Red Right Hand
by GlovesForThis
Summary: Dipper never imagined he'd be taking refuge in the penthouse suite of the city's most infamous criminal gang. A single night has flipped his life from ideal to utter chaos, and in the center of the storm is Bill Cipher. Danger hides beneath his smirk, and Dipper knows he's playing with fire, but he just can't get enough. BillDip.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** A lot of this chapter happens via flashbacks, watch for: blood, violence, and brief suicidal thoughts. Locations from GTA V are referenced but no knowledge of the game is necessary.

There will be eventual smut in this fic, but explicit scenes will only be available for reading on the Ao3 version of this story.

* * *

His heart rate was impossibly fast, the thump loud and hard against his chest as it threatened to break through his ribcage and spill his blood everywhere in sporadic convulsions. Tensed with fear, an inhale for much-needed oxygen caught in his throat, suffocating him, painfully squeezing the life from his lungs. He was going to die, _he was going to die_ , he—

A strangled cry of fright, one he didn't even recognize as his own initially, startled Dipper into consciousness with a jolt. Panting and covered in a thin layer of sweat, his eyes fluttered open to adjust to the low light of the guest bedroom while his clenched fists slowly loosened on the silky sheets they'd held in a death grip mere seconds before.

To his surprise, he realized he must have fallen asleep somehow, though wasn't sure how he'd managed that considering…

It felt like his mind stopped for a split second. It was the calm before the storm as an intense wave of grief washed over him while the memories came flooding back, tears forming in the corners of his eyes — he couldn't do this.

Much like his dream, he found himself unable to breathe, chest painfully tight.

In a desperate search for comfort to quell the rising panic within him, Dipper looked to find Mabel among the copious sheets on the king-sized bed, gaze landing on his sister's sprawled out figure, peacefully asleep.

Dipper felt nauseous. He wanted to wake her, to cry with her again, sobbing together until they were utterly incoherent. His face hurt from how much they'd cried.

Her closed eyes were puffy, cheeks flushed, brunette hair a mess, but Dipper was certain he didn't look any better. He gently brushed a hand over her back in an attempt to be soothing, wondering if her sleep was as tranquil as it seemed since his had been far from it. He didn't know how he'd ever sleep decently again after what'd happened tonight.

* * *

There was a crash. Glass shattering. Sudden flashes of color ignited in the sky, bursting into a million pieces as the roar of fireworks filled his ears, the sound deafening and not quite right. It was so loud, so incredibly close, and...

A cold truth chilled him to the bone: they weren't fireworks. They were gunshots.

A zap of adrenaline had Dipper awake instantly, the terror hitting him like a wall of bricks as the thunderous echo resounded throughout the house, confirming that his nightmare followed him from his dream.

He was overcome by disbelief, by the sheer horror of the situation.

He was frozen, muscles not cooperating, unable to move or think or even breathe as the unrelenting grasp of fear held him in place.

The piercing noise was nonstop, the entire foundation of his family's mansion shaking from its force. A blood-curdling scream joined the gunshots, and Dipper's stomach lurched, panic rushing over him as he recognized it as his mother's voice.

This couldn't be happening — he didn't even know what was happening, all he knew was…

 _Mabel!_

Dread swept through him, mixing with the basic desire for self-preservation and the growing urge to flee. But he wasn't going anywhere, not without Mabel. She had to be okay. She _needed_ to be.

Dipper jumped from his bed, running on pure adrenaline as he crossed the room in record time to shake her, her grogginess fading instantly as more gunshots rang out.

It was like everything was moving in slow motion as all he could do was stare down at her, wide-eyed and petrified for their lives. Their eyes locked. There was a singular, downright terrifying truth in the air. And finally finding his voice, all he could manage was a single, choked word:

Police.

* * *

The tang of blood drew him from his thoughts, only now noticing that he'd been biting his lip hard enough to break the skin.

Dipper sighed, unsure how to cope with this right now when everything felt overwhelming. He wished there could be an off-switch for his racing thoughts.

Shuffling from the bedsheets while being careful not to disturb Mabel, Dipper wandered out of the bedroom and entered the penthouse's main living space.

What he saw made him feel like he was in a fever dream. Sure, he'd seen it once before, but… he'd never taken in its elegance and in his dazed state, that was seemingly the only details he could absorb. The pale moonlight streaming through the mural-esque wall window accented the room, bringing a ghostly blue tint to the undoubtedly expensive furnishings. It was cold, unwelcome and unfamiliar.

Even the sectional sofa with its downy pillows, strategically surrounding the exceptionally-large flat screen television didn't seem inviting to Dipper. While there were homey items like a baby grand piano situated near the spacious kitchen, whiteboards with confusing equations and maps, and a fireplace, the fact that people (three, in fact — five if he and Mabel counted) _lived_ in this space—gangsters and criminals, no less—was beyond him since nothing appeared to be in disarray or an inch out of place. It was neat, clinically so, and he felt stifled by it all.

He still felt sick. He needed to get out.

Stepping onto the penthouse balcony was a change of pace, the city below bustling with its bright, colorful lights and fast cars and bleating horns, quite different from the strange stillness inside the penthouse.

Although he'd debated collapsing onto the patio sofa, Dipper drifted toward the railing instead, leaning forward and clasping the metal between his fingers, discovering it was cool despite the hot air of Los Santos.

A polluted night sky loomed above the overpopulated and noisy city, and he wished the stars would crash down around him, desperate and yearning for reprieve.

* * *

In his sheer panic, he told Mabel to hide.

He didn't know what was coming after them, what danger had burst into their home, but he didn't want her to face it.

But as quickly as it'd started, the crackles of gunshots had tapered off but left his ears ringing; he could hear shuffling and movement and yelling, safety was an illusion.

Dipper's hand, trembling wildly, lingered near the doorknob of the bedroom. Uneasiness was clawing at him. It settled like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. Every inch of Dipper, the last shreds of sense he had in this state, were screaming at him. Screaming _don't go out there_.

The house had gone silent, all he could hear was his ragged breathing.

Despite the heaviness in the air, he felt light-headed as he stepped into the hallway that led to his parents' bedroom. It was chaotic, a mess: the fur rugs were ruffled, the paintings eskew, windows with broken glass. The end table was knocked over, the small golden lion statue that usually rested atop it completely missing — he knew his parents treasured it, a luxurious wedding gift they'd received so many years ago. Gone.

A... robbery?

Dipper's attention drifted down the hallway illuminated only by eery beams of moonlight. The blazing, fiery scent of gunsmoke lingered.

The first smears of blood and bullet holes peppered in the wall had his stomach doing queasy flips, internally begging it not to be true; it couldn't be. Then the smears turned to splatters, turned to giant splashes and a crimson red puddle with limp, lifeless bodies… The edges of his sight started to become increasing black and fuzzy as he could do nothing but stare at the familiar corpses, sickened. Head and heart pounding, even if it seemed the world stopped for several seconds.

It was unreal, he couldn't believe it, couldn't begin to process.

It couldn't be. He screamed.

With shock as his guide, he numbly began to walk to them, what grisly remains there were, but he was dizzy, his head spinning while his vision blurred and ran together and adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he felt himself falling.

The world seemed to twist around him in a flash of pulsating technicolor; Dipper never felt the moment of impact as his consciousness slipped, and he plummeted toward the floor.

* * *

And now he stood on a balcony, hundreds of feet above millions of people that didn't care, didn't even know yet.

A shuddering exhale fell from Dipper, shaking his head as if that would rid the intrusive thoughts from his mind and clear away the crushing grief that seemed to be intent on consuming him whole. He was drowning in his own sorrow with no end in sight, not that he believed there was one to begin with.

His life would never be the same after tonight, and he wasn't sure if what was ahead could be considered worth living through — there was Mabel, but everything else… everything he'd ever known, it'd been ripped away in a single night, drastically altering his present and future. Dipper couldn't imagine it, there was no returning to okay now, no way to go back and change it.

He kept his eyes trained on the city as tears trailed down his cheeks, chest constricting while muffled sniffles escaped him.

A part of him was still convinced this wasn't happening, _couldn't be_ happening to him of all people, that this was nothing more than a wild dream to ride out until it was back to normal and he was with his loving family once more.

This reality simply wasn't possible. There wasn't a chance he was truly living this in the wake of his parents' murders… but here he was, wading through the shock and afraid for his life while trying to grapple with the tides of grief.

Under the circumstances, he figured it was impressive that he hadn't crumbled under the stress, and oh, it was so very tempting to. He wanted to give up, stop the suffering that stung sharp as knives embedded in his heart, and it was like each thump caused their pointed ends to go deeper.

* * *

"Really fucked up…"

"God damn it!"

"...unbelievable. Even the child…?"

Distantly, he could hear the sound of something crash, but the object was lost to him. "Son of a bitch, I'll kill 'em!"

Voices echoed around him as he drifted back into consciousness, unfamiliar and gruff, and he couldn't stop himself from emitting pained groan from how his head throbbed. The world was blurry, shapes shifting in and out of focus.

"...may be alive…?"

There was a hand clutching at his chin, forcing his head up as Dipper's dazed eyes stared into another man's who was looking back at him critically in examination. "Stanley, he's… stunned, but not dead."

"He's alive?" Another man approached, less spiffy than the last. Both wore strapped guns and hardened expressions, though the first seemed more concerned. "Well, ain't that some good news in a sea of shit! Can you hear me, kid?"

Dipper couldn't formulate a reply, hardly alert enough to understand what was occurring. Once again, it was as if the world was moving around him, a slow motion film that he was a helpless pawn in, able to do nothing but watch it go by.

"Kid?" he prompted again, and the first man looked more worried.

"Do you think—?"

An unintelligible noise tumbled from Dipper, a mess of vowels that even he couldn't decipher.. but it was something, better than no noise at all. He was blinking now, trying to get his surroundings to come in clearer, wishing his head would stop attempting to self-destruct.

"...that he's special needs?" he interjected, finishing the other man's sentence. "Probably. Son, if ya can understand us, and I know that may be hard, nod your head."

Something snapped into place.

Fear catching up with him, Dipper jolted back, eyes as wide as saucers as he stared at the two strangers who had barged into his home, clutching at his chest as he struggled for breath. "Wh- who are you?!"

The man who had been holding his chin retracted his hand quickly, appearing startled by the sudden recovery and resulting coherency. "Ah, we're…"

"I'm Stan," the brute of his companion interrupted with his thumb pointed back at his chest. "This here's Ford. What's your name, kid?"

Trying to recollect himself and put distance between them, he started to rise to his feet only to have a rush of dizziness crash over him; he settled for scrambling backwards, eyeing the two with suspicion. Although they didn't have their guns pointed at him, nor were they particularly threatening in how they spoke, Dipper was still terrified given the circumstances. His parents… oh.

Oh god.

He was going to be sick.

"Kid? I asked your name." Stan reached over to prod his shoulder, causing Dipper to flinch back with wild eyes. "Jesus Christ, take it easy. We're not gonna kill ya."

" _Pleasedon'thurtme_!" It was a panicked squeak in response to the promise that he wouldn't be killed (how reassuring), and he found himself sincerely hoping Mabel had located a hiding place so she would be safe from these people… whoever they were. "What do you want?!"

"Your name, boy." The other—Ford—muttered.

He swallowed hard, grasping at the tattered rug for purchase with shaky hands. "...Dipper."

That seemed to be the wrong answer from how Ford shot Stan a questioning glance, then looked back to him. "Did ya hit your head or somethin'?" Stan asked, gaze scanning his head for signs of injury. "That ain't your name, kid."

Confused, he wondered why they'd asked if they weren't going to accept his response, but before he could say anything, Ford cut in. "Are you not Mason?"

 _Oh._

"I am," he confirmed evenly, hoping to appear more confident than he felt. "It's… I go by Dipper."

Stan's laugh, though devoid of any joy, boomed through the silent house. "Christ, we'll deal with that later. Have ya seen your sister?"

Anxiety bubbled in him at the mention of Mabel, worried they had hurt her. "How… how do you know—?"

"Kid, your family's information isn't exactly private."

While fair enough, he wasn't thinking straight right now — all his mind kept going back to was the thought of his parents, dead. The puddle of blood, the gut-wrenching smears on the wall. The dizziness had returned, the hallway shifting in the corners of his sight.

At the mere idea, his head tilted, trying to see around the two figures blocking his path, dreading what was down there but morbid curiosity forcing him to look, to try to see his parents...

Stan snapped his fingers in Dipper's face to grab his attention. "Nothin' to see over there, kid."

"B-but my parents—!"

Ford let out a strained exhale, "They're gone. Now, about your sister…"

"She's already called the police! They'll be here any minute!" Dipper was desperate, not wanting to hear the bad news if she was also dead— he didn't think he could handle it. He couldn't, he knew he couldn't.

Without her… he gulped at the thought.

There was a collective displeasure in the air immediately as the threat of police was thrown at them. " _Shit_ ," he could hear Stan hiss under his breath. "You better find your sister quick, kid. We're leaving. All of us."

" _What_?!"

There was no way. Not a chance.

Although relieved Mabel was probably alright, there was a new hefty problem to contend with. Dipper shook his head and again was scrambling to get away. "You're insane! I'm not going anywhere with you!"

He couldn't escape Stan's reach in time, and could feel a fist close around the collar of his pine tree-print pajamas, holding him in place. " _I didn't ask_." His voice had dropped to a dangerous growl and left not an inch for argument. "We need to get you kids out of here. You can resist all ya want, but it won't do ya any good."

Still in the throes of panic, he squawked with a motion toward where his parents inevitably laid in rivers of their own blood, "So you can kill us too?!" The thought had his stomach twisting in knots, he was going to faint again—

"We didn't kill your parents. We were trying to save them!" He released his grip on his shirt as his companion, Ford, pulled out a pistol from his coat and pointed it at him.

"Best not waste time, Mason. Find your sister."

And that was how he and Mabel, equipped only with essentials and sets of clothes, ended up in the backseat of a car even more luxurious than the ones his family owned… or used to own — that was saying something, but he couldn't find it in himself to care as they raced by the the streets and people and cars of Los Santos, speeding down the freeway to some unknown destination.

Grimly, he sort of hoped the car would crash, letting them all die instantly. But alas, giving them the sweet release of death was too much to ask for.

Trembling, Dipper was collapsed against his sister, and Mabel had her head buried in her nightgown, refusing to say a single word. He didn't blame her, as he didn't know what to say either except that he wished things were different.

Guilt panged at him. The devastation that came with being powerless to the destruction of their lives, as if this was somehow his fault, proved difficult to escape.

He didn't understand why he was alive, what force decided he would survive this. But he knew he didn't deserve it.

Desperate for a distraction to stop his unrelenting thoughts, he tuned in to the conversation happening in the front of the vehicle.

"...have Bill contact them immediately and express our formal disapproval over what occurred tonight." He could hear Ford complain, sounding distressed. "This is unacceptable— not only were there _kids_ but they have utterly doomed this city with their bold, idiotic move."

"Ya know that won't do shit," Stan responded bitterly. "They fucked this one up bad, and the only thing those dumbasses would understand is a bomb planted in their headquarters. Though, that ain't half a bad idea…"

" _No_ , Stanley. The senator and mayor are dead, so we ought to wait before we take action. We don't know what this means for us yet."

Dipper gradually realized _this…_

The murders…

They weren't motivated by robbery, and the light-headedness made a shockingly fast comeback. "Someone targeted our parents?" he thought aloud, piecing it together but hardly comprehending; nothing felt real, not the loss of their parents or the fact they were being dragged from their home to god-knew-where.

Stan confirmed his thoughts. "Yeah, they did. We knew they were planning on it, but we were too late… we only got a few of them while they were runnin' out."

And with that, Dipper was feeling sick again, curling tighter into Mabel as if that would ease his nausea. His head was reeling, swarming with too many thoughts that he couldn't even concentrate on one for long.

"We'll take good care of ya, though." Stan hadn't stopped talking. "Let things cool down for a month or two, since the Ravagers will be hunting ya and the cops will be on the lookout. Once things do, we'll give ya some cash and ya can do what you wish. As long as you don't talk about us."

He didn't even know what _us_ was referring to.

"Can't we just go now?" Dipper mumbled, a mournful sound. Where they would go or what they'd do as newly-made orphans, he didn't know, but… "We promise we won't talk, right Mabel?"

Dipper's heart fell slightly when there was no response, not that he'd really expected one when she was like this, and one glance at her was crushing since he knew he couldn't do anything to alleviate the grief they were experiencing. Unable to hold back, discomfort expanded in his chest, and he felt fat tears roll down his face. His lithe frame shuddered with sobs.

Ford frowned. "Unfortunately, that isn't an option. For our safety and yours, you must remain with us for a while... but as Stanley said, try not to fret since you will be treated as honored guests would be."

"It's not like we're gonna hurt ya kids," Stan added. "That's the last thing we wanna do."

The car ride continued in silence until they were pulling into a driveway of an astonishingly big complex and being ushered out of the vehicle, soon finding themselves standing in the doorway of the penthouse suite.

Ford encouraged the twins inside, pushing them toward the sectional sofa with the reasoning: "Without the threat of cops looming over us, I'd like to have a look at you both to ensure you're unharmed from your encounter with… them."

Dipper didn't protest and figured he was referring to the Ravagers, having heard that gang's name tossed around quite a bit in the past twenty minutes, with a heap of cursing aimed at them. He decided it was best to allow Ford to check him over since he was too exhausted, too emotionally drained to fight it. The events of the evening were in the back of his mind, but the full gravity of it all hadn't clicked into place.

Stan had left their sides, crossing the expansive room in long strides. "Bill!" he called. "Where are ya? We got some bad news." Dipper glanced away from Ford's examination to observe a blond male in a yellow and black tuxedo and a bowtie enter the room from the balcony.

He was exceedingly tall, and… Dipper's eyes narrowed, there was something familiar about him. He couldn't pinpoint what it was.

"Stan," Bill greeted. "What's up? You look like you've seen some ghosts. How'd your little mission go?"

"We were too late. They got to the parents first… but we managed to recover the kids." Stan beckoned over to them with his hand.

"Damn."

With Bill looking at him now, Dipper was _certain_ he knew him. Somehow, from somewhere… the memory was fuzzy. With so many other things on his mind, he didn't dwell on it.

It didn't take long for Bill's expression to brighten up. "If it makes ya feel better, your aim's better than your timing tonight because Lee's six feet under with Nate now! After you two shot him up, Robbie sent me some death threats over the whole shebang and an image of him– at my request. 'Proof or it didn't happen', you know! We can get out the board!"

The board? What was _that_?

He noticed something between a grimace and smile flicker on Ford's features for a moment. "While I'd normally express sympathy, the Ravagers had no right to be there this evening. Absolute stupidity, and this is well-deserved retribution," the grimace took over, "though I hadn't intended on _killing_ him..."

His questions about the board were answered when Stan, who had fallen into a fit of triumphant chuckling, retrieved it from a closet. It was a whiteboard with pictures taped to it and lines drawn connecting various people, and Dipper could see the eyes crossed out on a darker skinned male, as well as a female with dyed hair. There was writing beneath the images, but he couldn't make out what each said.

However, his attention was snagged by the multiple question marks scattered near an image of someone wearing a golden owl mask and a top hat. Whoever it was appeared to be sipping a soda through a straw-sized hole in the beak of the mask. How intimidating.

Tilting his head, he asked, "Who… who are they?"

"Them?" Stan glanced down at the pictures. "Your parents' murderers, lil' Dippy. The ones with the crossed out eyes are dead. Excluding Lee," he gestured to an image of a blond, "they all died before tonight. Tragic." He pinned the whiteboard to the wall, pulling out a pen to 'x' out his eyes. "Much better, don'tcha think? Just can't let Wendy see this."

Puzzled, Dipper had only a scarce idea of what was going on, who these people even were. Apparently, the board was filled with members of the Ravagers and their pictures, but… then who was Wendy, and why couldn't she see it? He wasn't sure he wanted to ask.

Almost too intuitively, Ford seemed to pick up on his confusion, while Dipper was unaware that it'd been written clearly across his face the entire time. "Wendy is in our crew… Used to be in theirs but," he sighed lightly, "there was an… incident. It'd be wise to keep it hushed around her out of respect."

Bill chuckled. "Oh please, she already knows about Lee. I forwarded her the picture Robbie sent me."

Ford was bristling, visibly irritated. "The picture of _Lee_?"

"Yup! Thought Red might like the proof too."

Dipper felt like he was going to be ill again, this conversation just icing on the cake to the death of his own parents — on the way here, Stan and Ford had convinced him they were perfectly mannered individuals (for being gangsters, at least), but he was beginning to have doubts.

"Alright, alright." Stan had begun to speak. "It's been a long night. Kids, we'll show you to the guest room so you can get some rest."

* * *

After they'd been brought to their new bedroom, Dipper had erupted into a fit of sobs and broken down completely, it was as if the weight of the situation had been suspended above them, threateningly hovering, until that very moment.

He couldn't remember how long he'd cried for, but it felt like hours where he sat with Mabel, both in tears and not knowing what to say or how to make it better… so they'd just bawled over the loss, the grief, the total destruction of everything they'd known.

They'd attempted speaking to each other, sharing sad words of semi-comfort when nothing seemed to lessen the suffering they were enduring. It hadn't helped, and he was left feeling distraught over it all.

He wanted the grief to stop, to leave him alone for just a moment, let him recollect his thoughts and sift through them… organize them, but they were a complete wreck. Dipper couldn't think straight, he couldn't even keep his emotions in check when he was bursting into tears every few minutes.

And ultimately, he didn't think he could take this. It was too much, the stress and sadness of it, the unbearable guilt and grief ripping through his soul. Dipper just wanted it to stop.

Perhaps if he could get his mind to slow down for just one second, if he could turn it off— but he couldn't, and he was helpless to his own emotional avalanche. It was agony, being haunted by mental images of his parents in pools of their own blood.

Mind drifting back to the present, Dipper's hands loosened on the balcony railing, and his movements were languid, deliberate, as he edged one leg over the side.

And then the other, so he was perched on the rail, teetering precariously over the city of Los Santos that was a blur of lights and sounds below. The city seemed so tiny from here.

A blissful thought occurred to him: all he'd have to do...

One scoot forward, and he could be done with this, free himself from the terror and despair and anxiety, the insurmountable sorrow that held—

"Hey cutie," came a voice from behind, and Dipper tensed as he was surrounded by the warmth of arms wrapping around him, the feeling of a chest pressed against his back and a chin on his shoulder. He hadn't noticed he was shaking like a leaf until now and in the next second, he was being effortlessly plucked off the rail and set onto the secure floor of the balcony.

Turning around, Dipper was met with the sight of Bill, still dressed in his attire which seemed too formal for the occasion. His stance was casual, a faint smile on his lips curved ever-so-slightly into a smirk that oozed charisma and insincerity. In a flash, his guard was up.

He hadn't heard the other join him outside, but admittedly, his thoughts had him distracted. Acting out of habit, Dipper wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to at least appear somewhat presentable, but also not sure if he even cared anymore once he noticed he was doing it. How he looked to Bill was extremely low on the list of concerns.

"You don't wanna jump, that'll hurt like hell. Come on." He led him away from the railing, instead urging him to sit on the white patio sofa. And Dipper, dazed by the sudden switch of events, couldn't do anything except follow after.

He was about to speak, a protest on the tip of his tongue, but was shushed by a black-gloved hand as Bill went on. "Tell me what's on your mind. If you still want to jump afterward, go for it. I won't stop you."

"Then what's the point?" Dipper asked miserably.

Bill's eyebrows raised. "Well, it'll give me something to tell Stan when he flips his shit because you're splattered all over the pavement."

* * *

 _"You'll see him in your nightmares, you'll see him in your dreams  
_ _He'll appear out of nowhere but he ain't what he seems  
_ _You'll see him in your head, on the TV screen  
_ _Hey buddy, I'm warning you to turn it off  
_ _He's a ghost, he's a god, he's a man, he's a guru  
_ _You're one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan  
_ _Designed and directed by his red right hand."_

\- "Red Right Hand" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds


	2. Chapter 2

Bill watched as Dipper blinked at him, then the kid wordlessly looked away toward the horizon line where the tiniest rays of sun were peeking over, casting beams of early morning light over the city.

So they were stuck with a kid who could thousand-yard-stare like a champ.

Nice to know.

Pulling back the sleeve of his jacket, he looked deliberately at the watch on his wrist because god damn, if Bill had realized he would take so long to respond, he would've just let him go. Then caught him. At the moment, they didn't need some stupid kid killing himself at their penthouse since that'd call for an investigation and Bill didn't want pigs crawling all over the place. They were already annoying enough when they tried to stop him during heists. Killing them was fun though.

"I…" Dipper's throat worked silently, seemingly debating, "I don't even _know_ you." He sounded strained, but that wasn't exactly a surprise when he'd probably been out here crying for who knew how long. There was a pause, and he sniffled as he wiped away more tears. "All I know is that… you sent Wendy a picture of a dead guy. And that doesn't scream 'someone who I want to talk to about things.'"

"You don't know _Wendy_ ," Bill reminded him, though he supposed a formal introduction was in order. Stan didn't even attempt one for him, that lazy fuck. "Name's Bill Cipher. And you must be Mason," that caught his attention, and Dipper was looking at him again. "Don't look so surprised. I know who you are, the chess-winning son of our now-former mayor and senator. Yes, it's nice to meet me. The pleasure is yours." He winked at him.

Once the horror had faded from his eyes, he winced. "Dipper, actually," he corrected, his frame deflating, "and I'm already envious of the people who've never met you. Can I jump off the balcony yet?"

Bill made a tsking noise at him. "So impatient. You haven't even spilled the beans to me, kid. What's eatin' ya?" He could guess correctly, but he figured it'd do more for the dumb jar to get it off his chest. Therapeutic or whatever, but there was another reason, a more personal one, why he needed this kid to cough it up.

He turned away from him, sniffling. "You need me to tell you what's wrong?" A wet laugh escaped Dipper, bringing his hands to cover his face. "Well, my parents are _dead_ and my life is a wreck and I'm trapped in some apartment with a bunch of criminals, and you're antagonizing me."

No, Dipper didn't _need_ to tell him anything. Bill already knew, and he didn't really care. Most of this was formalities, an attempt to prevent the kid from killing himself on their property at the least. He'd be happy to help the kid find another balcony later. "If it's any consolation, your 'entrapment' is solely for your protection. If we were to let you loose, the very same people that took out your folks would go after you." And then there'd be two dead kids and Stan would be PISSED. "Jumping off the balcony would be a nicer fate, though I still don't recommend it."

"So those guys from the board?" Dipper muttered through his hands before he dropped them back into his lap. "I thought most of them were dead."

"They have some left," Bill shrugged. "Were five for a long time but are now down to four, since Lee reunited with his dilbro. Hope they're living it up in Hell with Tambry, sounds like a threeway in the making."

"What?" He glanced up to frown, looking puzzled.

Ah, this kid was a little slow. Bill assumed it was because he hit his head when he fainted back there. Hopefully. "Once upon a time when the gang was more… intact," in the days before Thompson fucked up a job and killed a chunk of them, "Lee was close to a guy named Nate, and Nate briefly had a thing for Tambry but his love for Lee murdered that crush brutally. They were best friends and very, very gay. I bet you'd know all about that, with how much of a twink you are."

Dipper flushed instantly, though he couldn't tell if it was just anger or embarrassment too. Whoops, the tiny twiggy twink was mad at him now in any case. " _Seriously_? What is _wrong_ with you, dude?" he snapped, gaze narrowing.

With a smirk, Bill ruffled Dipper's hair, unfazed by the reaction. "Just need to make you a blond and you'd fit the description perfectly." As the hair moved, he caught a glimpse of a pale mark. "Hey cutie, what's this on your forehead?"

He didn't even know someone's face could _be_ that shade of red. Dipper pulled away with an irritated squawk, swatting at his hand in the process and smoothing his brown hair back into place over the mark. "It's nothing!" he tried to protest, but personally Bill thought it sounded like a whine.

"Uh huh…" Bill lunged for him, knocking him over on the sofa despite his squirming and squeaking, pinning him with ease. "Let's see what you're hiding there, Pine Tree!"

" _Pine Tree?!_ " Still thrashing, Dipper was attempting to weasel out of his grip.

It was almost like he was holding down a kitten with Dipper's feeble attempts to escape. "Look south, kid!"

Eyes trailing downward, Dipper seemed to finally realize where the nickname originated from — those fuzzy pine tree-print pajamas were quite adorable. It suddenly became a lot less adorable when the squirmy escape attempts continued and he was kneed harshly in the stomach, Bill's breath momentarily knocked from him at the impact.

Christ, he hadn't expected the kid to be so difficult about this. Whatever was on his forehead better be worth it.

"You wanna play dirty, Pine Tree? Fine." It took only a moment to position himself, having pried his twig-like thighs apart to lay between them — he was eager to see Dipper attempt to knee him like this, and knew he was trying to with how his legs kicked uselessly. "Now, let's take a look!"

With one hand clamping Dipper's wrists together, his free one brushed the hair away from the kid's forehead, exposing the Big Dipper constellation birthmark. "Interesting," he murmured in fascination. "You were fussing over this, Pine Tree?"

It _was_ absolutely worth the trouble of pinning the squirmy kitten.

Gaze averting, he couldn't seem to meet his eyes and was visibly ashamed by it, as he mumbled, "It's… it's embarrassing."

"Nah," Bill shook his head. Constellations were nice. "Stop fretting so much, Pine Tree. It's not a good look on you."

Dipper huffed, but his expression melted into something softer, sadder, his body going limp beneath him in what he assumed was defeat. "Look, man, my parents just died. How I look is the least of my problems."

Bill wasn't so sure about that. "Your parents dying isn't the end of the world. I got along just fine when mine did. It hurts," that was debatable in his opinion, "but you can't let that consume ya."

What hurt more was his parents deciding to put down his dogs, his precious Golden Retriever mixes, without so much as a warning because Poppy had growled at their idiotic, ankle-biting yapper. The mini-mutt wouldn't stop attacking her, and somehow _she_ was always in the wrong for defending herself. Buttercup was killed due to being 'too dangerous', but Bill knew they were just looking for an excuse to get rid of them. Neither would have hurt a fly.

Bill still had a particular distaste for that stupidly small, misbehaved dachshund. They deserved to watch that fucking thing's neck snap before he burned them alive.

"I'm _trying_. It's hard, okay?" Dipper's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, tears spilling over his skin — Jesus, at this rate, he was going to be dehydrated from all the waterworks. After a bit, he asked, "Can you let me up?"

"Are you going to take a run for the rail?"

"Maybe," he muttered, "being with you has done nothing but tempt me."

"Guess you're not gettin' up, Pine Tree." He patted his head, gloved fingers grazing the birthmark lightly, tracing over the lines of the constellation. Why did the kid get the cool birthmark? He didn't appreciate it, didn't even want people to look at it apparently.

"What are you doing." It wasn't a question, it was a slightly irked statement.

"Don't worry about it." He wasn't hurting him. He was fine.

Dipper merely sighed and somehow sensed it was in his best interest to let it drop. He watched as his attention shifted to the balcony (Bill tightened his grip around the kid's wrists to remind him), then back to him, his gaze settling on his own.

Dipper's eyes were puffy and watery as he seemed to examine him, keeping them locked for a moment while neither spoke; Bill could see a trace of something in the depths, the way his pupils dilated just a touch—

Recognition.

Shit.

His movements paused as his mind spun with dark thoughts. If Dipper recognized him from the attack, he needed to get rid of him. Immediately. "Pine Tree," he said slowly. "You're staring at me like I'm eye candy. Got anything you'd like to say?"

"Your _eye_ ," he said, sounding entirely enraptured by this. "...You're a freak too."

God. Fucking. Dammit.

"Guess I gotta throw you off the balcony. Bye." Bill made a move to lift the kid up, scooping him in his arms and carrying him bridal style toward the rail. He wasn't entirely happy about his eye being brought up– he knew he had sectoral heterochromia, well aware of the splotch of blue that tainted the sea of amber. It was infuriating. He was reminded every time he looked in mirrors that he'd been so, _so_ damn close to having lovely golden eyes.

They neared the railing and a squeal of panic later, Dipper's arms were wrapping around his neck, clinging desperately. "What the heck, man?! I like it!" he explained, a frantic edge to his tone. "And… and you were like, _fingering_ my birthmark a second ago, let me have this!"

The mild annoyance across Bill's face became a look of amusement. "Looks like someone got the suicide scared outta them."

Dipper's chest was rising and falling against him erratically, and his voice cracked, "It's not suicide if you throw me over!"

A hum escaped him. "Assisted suicide. Besides, no one would be able to tell the difference. I'll just tell Stan you were fucking around and fell." Stan would believe him, and be pissed off Dipper was so stupid.

Bill could feel the kid shudder against him. "Please no," Dipper said a bit breathlessly, his delicate fingers scraping along his dress shirt collar as he grasped for purchase, seemingly still afraid he was at risk of being tossed overboard.

Tipping his chin up, Bill enjoyed the sensation of Dipper's nails scratching at his skin. "Hmm, I dunno Pine Tree. You haven't wholly convinced me to not release you like a baby bird being kicked out of the nest. Although, you can't fly. Splat."

"Okay, what do you want?" he asked distractedly, fingers moving down to his…

Wait. Was he playing with his bowtie?

Bill face dropped into a displeased scowl. "To drop you." This was wearing his patience thin. If that fucker undid it—

The threat seemed to do the trick, his worried eyes were back on him instead of the bowtie. He could see Dipper swallow hard, shaking his head silently — in fear. Much better.

"How old are ya, kid?" Bill asked.

Dipper's lips twitched downward, squirming for a second in his arms as his eyes flicked to the edge of the balcony and the city below. "I don't—" a frustrated noise tumbled from him as he seemed to be collecting his thoughts, "...Can we sit down first?"

Bill wasn't budging until he got what he wanted. "No."

"Nineteen."

Honestly, he hadn't expected that. Bill's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wow, and you weigh like fifty pounds? How are you alive?"

He quivered, the sniffling making a return and his eyes growing misty. Probably shouldn't have said 'alive' but whatever, Bill figured he had to get over it sooner or later. Then came the weak protest, "...I weigh more than that. Like, at least one hundred something."

He snorted softly, moving to set Dipper back onto the sofa. Or more accurately drop him and watch the kid flail for a second, oh well. He wasn't here to coddle the boy. "We need to get you on a scale." He reached down to cup a single hand around his leg near his ankle. "Look at how tiny this is!" Even with the fuzzy pine tree pajamas, it fit within his hand.

"H-hey!" he snapped offendedly, pulling the leg away and tucking it neatly underneath him, out of reach. Dipper ran a hand through his hair, flopping back onto the patio sofa's cushions and looking at him wearily. "So… you said your parents are dead too?"

"Yup." Bill didn't have much to say on the topic of his parents. They died. He killed them. His bad.

"What happened?"

"They couldn't get out of a burning building in time." He may have tied them up. Hehe, his hand slipped. Oops, he accidentally spilled some gasoline on their stupid fucking faces and lit a match.

Not that Dipper needed to know that.

Sympathy glittered in Dipper's eyes, and he wiped the excess tears away again. "Wow," he searched for words, "...I'm sorry."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he said, "Mm-hmm, it was quite tragic." After removing his black gloves, Bill reached into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Yes, Dipper should be apologizing for the death of his beloved dogs, not the human scum that killed them.

"Was it…" he trailed off for a moment, hand making a strange motion like the limb was having a seizure, and coughed, "gang-related?"

Bill shrugged as he lit the cigarette and brought it to his lips. "It was a family matter. You want one?"

For the first time, Dipper seemed to notice the cigarette and the offer to have one caused the kid to wrinkle his nose in obvious distaste. "Those are terrible for your health."

"Yeah, and so is jumping off a balcony 'cause you wanna die." He blew a cloud of smoke in Dipper's direction. They could do both and see which of them wound up in a casket quicker.

His face scrunched into something pouty, and he waved his hands to dissipate the smoke. "But I didn't."

"Would you have chickened out if I hadn't come over?"

That question seemed to stump him for a couple moments, and he pulled his legs in tighter. "I don't know," he admitted, lifting his shoulders as he cast his eyes downward, still red from crying. "It's just… overwhelming, and it _hurts_ , I ...I don't know what to do."

Bill patted him on the head, a little awkwardly because he didn't know how to console the kid. He kept crying and could probably give every fountain in Los Santos a run for its money. "Living's a good start." The cigarette returned to his lips, the orange embers glowing in the dark.

"Says the guy who was ready to kill me twenty minutes ago."

"Look, you were ready to kill yourself thirty minutes ago. We've made a lot of progress."

They fell into silence for a couple seconds until Dipper emitted a deep exhale, his eyes closing in thought. "It's like all I can think a-about," a sad hiccup, "is how they were laying there. Just, in their _blood_ , it was…" his entire frame shuddered as he trailed off.

Christ. Where did Stan get this bag of emotion? "Then stop thinking about it, Pine Tree." Seriously, he was kind of being a Debbie Downer. All he wanted was a cigarette and some time with his telescope this evening, and what he'd gotten was heaps of feels from this sap.

He made a low keening sound. "That's like telling a cancer patient to just… stop having cancer."

"Exactly! It's easy. Stop."

"I think I'm speaking on behalf of everyone in Los Santos when I say I'm really glad you're not a doctor."

Heh.

Wolfishly, Bill grinned at him. "Oh, but I _am_." Maybe he didn't have as many doctoral degrees as Ford, but he had two, _and_ graduated in a stunningly short amount of time.

The look on that kid's face was legendary, well worth the response as the color drained from him. "Cat got ya tongue, Pine Tree? I can take a look at that." He wasn't actually skilled in the medical field, but seeing Dipper's reaction would be priceless anyway.

With a sharp inhale, he scooted further away and huffed, "Don't touch me."

"What, you don't want to feel how my fingers graze over your warm baby skin?" Bill wiggled his fingers at Dipper, the motion somewhere between threatening and playful.

"Why are you so _creepy_ , man?"

"Why is your skin softer than a baby's butt?"

"Why have you been touching baby butts?" Dipper frowned.

"That's not the point, lil' Dippy." Keeping Dipper's mind off his parents' was giving a decent amount of credibility to his _Just Stop_ method, not that he would ruin it by telling Dipper what he was doing.

" _Don't_ call me that," it came out as a small whine, hardly convincing. "It's Dipper."

"Why should I?" His tone had become slightly challenging, wondering how Dipper would try to protect his nickname's honor. "You gonna make me, lil' Dippy?" At this point, he was just goading him on.

He could see the annoyance in Dipper's eyes as he spoke, "Come on, man. Don't be a dick."

" _Make me_." Bill didn't think Dipper had the balls to do anything about it.

After seemingly endless seconds of deliberation through a contemptuous gaze, Dipper's response was attempting to punch him in the shoulder. Bill's lightning reflexes snapped into action, catching his fist in the air and noting how soft and squishy his hand was. He squeezed. "It's like I caught a ball of noodles."

That seemed to only frustrate him further, and he used the other hand to try to land another punch since the first had failed so miserably. Bill caught this one too with ease, smirking at him. "This is pathetic." Not that he expected any better from a kid that'd grown up in the lap of luxury, both parents formerly involved in politics; he probably had bodyguards accompanying him everywhere while mommy and daddy paid for every spoiled endeavor of his life.

A kid like that wouldn't know a single thing about fighting, especially not this one. Bill was just surprised he didn't have flowers in his hair.

Dipper apparently realized he was out of options as he struggled to free his wrists from his grip, groaning, "Can you just call me Dipper? Lil' Dippy makes me sound like I'm either ten or some lame rapper."

"To be fair, I can't see you being a _good_ rapper." Bill released his hands, watching as he flopped back into the patio sofa. "You'd sound like a twelve year old going through puberty."

Dipper let out a sad laugh, "According to my sister, I already sound like that."

"Your sister is a wise gal."

He saw Dipper's expression twist in pain, darkening — fuck, here we went again with the tears and sniffling. Bill had hoped they were beyond this since he had the guy distracted for several minutes, it'd been good.

Ugh.

What a child. If he had known killing the mayor and her hubby would leave them babysitting their adult (cry)baby, he would have told Robbie to either _not bother_ or _kill all of them_. This was just annoying. "You should be grateful," he murmured off-handedly. "Those Ravagers can be brutal. Reckless and relentless, always trying to beat Stan and Ford at being top dogs." The brothers were at the top for a reason, and a part of it was their natural talent of staying there. Wasn't a secret that they were the best at what they did. He finished the remainder of his cigarette, smoke billowing from his mouth.

"I don't understand why they had to kill my parents, of all people." It was mournful, his eyes glazed as they stared at the gradually-brightening skyline as rays of dawn sunlight started to peek over.

"It's for status," Bill said, flicking the cigarette stub over the edge of the balcony.

Dipper choked, "That's so messed up."

All Bill did was shrug dismissively. "Nah, that's just the way things are here. Kill or be killed, kiddo. It's almost like you've never stepped foot in Los Santos."

"Doesn't make it any less messed up."

"It's life. That's like saying a lion killing an antelope for food is fucked up."

His eyes flashed with hurt and anger. "A lion wouldn't kill an antelope _for status_ , jerk."

A laugh. "Kid, in this city, _status_ may as well be food. If you don't have a known reputation, you can go rot in the sewers. No one will hire someone wet-behind-the-ears."

The kid rolled his eyes. "Oh, right. The one sipping soda through an owl mask looked so intimidating."

...the fuck was he on about now?

It clicked: the board dedicated to identifying the Ravagers. Of course. "That guy in the owl mask is probably the most dangerous one, considering he's killed hundreds of people." He paused. "Our crew doesn't even know who he is."

Oh, but here was the fun part, the real clincher: he most certainly did know.

And he took vicious delight in the knowledge that it was _him_ , and he enjoyed his owl mask immensely. He knew having a mask of Ford's favorite animal (Ford definitely had a weird boner for owls) in a rival gang would piss him off, and it worked like a charm. Ford fucking loathed Owl Mask, not that he had any idea who it was.

The concern was keeping things that way.

His mind returned to their most recent job, the assassination of Dipper's parents and although he'd been there, Bill didn't even do the actual killing; nevertheless, he wanted the boy to fear him. All he touched was that pretty golden lion, that was now the newest piece of his victim collection.

"Yeah, I kind of got that from the question marks." There was a pause, and his gaze settled on him again, surprisingly bright. "So, why do you guys need to know that stuff anyway? Having a whiteboard of your… enemies," the word seemed to be used tentatively, "is super weird."

"How so?" Bill inquired. "We like to keep tabs on our enemies. Maybe your parents would've been better off if they'd done the same."

He'd never seen someone look so furious in such a short amount of time, and the next thing he knew, there was a stab of pain right below his knee.

That _little shit_ —!

Dipper had fucking kicked him _._

Time to _really_ throw him off the balcony. "You're going to regret that, Sapling." His voice had dropped to a growl as he menacingly stepped toward him.

"Kiss my ass, I fucking hate you." It would have been perhaps _slightly_ intimidating if there weren't tears streaming down the kid's face and dripping down onto his folded arms.

"The feeling's mutual, you ungrateful fuck. I should've left you to jump." Should have shot him while he was unconscious, then he wouldn't have even had to deal with this.

Dipper shrunk back, and he could hear him mutter a small "maybe you should have" under his breath before collapsing further onto the patio sofa, splaying out on his stomach. "I don't want to be here."

"I wish you fucking weren't either. It wasn't my idea to bring you back here, kid. All you'll do is be a pest and get in the way of our work."

His response was harsh, "I'm sure the people you were about to go and kill will be glad I intervened." For being at his mercy, this kid sure had a mouth on him — he guessed it was possible that he really didn't care about living anymore. Well, he thought darkly, they could arrange a solution.

Bill scoffed at him. "This crew isn't heavy on killing, twerp. The Ravagers give gangs a bad name, Stan and Ford prefer to kill only if necessary. It's never for status and only for self-preservation."

"Then it's safe to assume they're not going to put a bullet in my head while I'm sleeping?" Dipper questioned, a cross between irritated and ...relief. Fucking hell, what kind of monsters had he thought they were? It wasn't like Stan or Ford actively encouraged murder since it led to negative consequences. Investigations. Drama. Several phone calls covering their asses.

" _They_ won't." Bill might. He was getting sick of this kid and was tempted to go back inside. And he would've a long time ago, maybe even let him jump, but there were things he needed to know before the kid offed himself. Or _he_ put him out of his misery.

"Well, you haven't thrown me off the balcony yet. _Progress_." The last bit was sarcastic, downright mocking his earlier statement.

"You have no fucking idea how much I want to, brat. I wouldn't push it." Because if Dipper kept this up, he'd be joining dear ma and pa. As much as he wanted to know how much this kid had seen, _if_ he'd seen him, it wasn't worth sitting through him being a whiny little bitch.

His flaring annoyance faded a bit when it seemed he got the message, quieting into a much-needed silence. The threat must have hit the mark and convinced him that he didn't want to die, or perhaps just didn't want to die via murder-from-the-balcony since Dipper's attention was trained on the sleepless city below as he picked mindlessly at the patio sofa's fabric.

Seizing this opportunity, Bill took a seat on the arm of the sofa. "What do you remember of the attack anyway, kid?" Since he wasn't being a bitch anymore, Bill figured he'd try to get as much information out of the kid as possible until he was being uncooperative again.

"Uh," Dipper cleared his throat, caught off guard by the question and Bill was actually surprised when he started recounting the details, "I.. I woke up to gunshots, a lot of them, enough to make our house shake," as he spoke, Bill could feel a growing pressure on the side of his thigh, and he glanced down to the sight of Dipper pushing his leg with his feet, "and m-my mom screamed." The rest seemed to catch in his throat for a moment, but it was a relief when tears didn't come. "I told Mabel to get the police."

The pressure suddenly became much more like a kick, clearly trying to dismount him from the armrest, and Bill took this as a clear sign he was supposed to move.

Onto Dipper's legs.

He plopped down without a care. "You were saying?"

Over his shoulder, he was spared an exasperated glare. "And… the rest— do you really need to know? I don't even want to think about it." The distress was slowly creeping into his voice and onto his face, his pupils pinpricks that seemed to be staring at something in the distance.

"What about the attackers?" Bill pressed, ignoring Dipper's protest. "Obviously they were the Ravagers, but I'd like any details you can recall. Clothing, masks, voices." Dipper seemed to be spacing off, so Bill flicked him on his nose. He jerked back. "Pay attention, Sapling."

"I was," he protested but Bill merely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that was a flat out lie. He looked spacier than Soos strung out on pot.

"Lying to me isn't helping your case, kid."

"I can't think when you're crushing my legs."

"Would you like me to cut them off?"

He felt the kid squirm beneath him, but he didn't give him an inch. Dipper settled down again, complaining, "That'll probably be what happens if you keep sitting on them. Figured you'd know that, _Doctor_."

"Keep talking like that, and I'll feed your legs to your sister in chili."

"Gross," he commented, then ran a hand through his hair nervously, fluffing the brown locks. "Look, I don't want to talk about… _that_ , okay?"

He had a feeling he wasn't talking about the chili threat and was referring to the murder details but quite frankly, Bill didn't give a flying fuck about what he wanted. "I asked about the attackers, Pine Tree. Start talking." Or he'd make him.

"I don't remember." The response was guarded, said too quickly to be genuine in any regard. "There, is that what you wanted? Just get _off,_ already."

"I think you're withholding some information from me, kid. Don't make this harder on yourself."

" _You're_ making this harder, not me!" he cried out, frustrated. "I didn't see anyone, I just… I saw them, m-my parents— that was all." After a second, Dipper grumbled with an inflection of sarcasm, "I'm _sorry_ I can't help with your murder board, but I really don't remember."

His eyes slimmed to skeptical slits as he stared at Dipper, noting they would have to work on this. If that kid remembered _anything_ about him during the attack, he'd need to squeeze it out before it was spilled to Stan and Ford. They'd kill him. Having a divided loyalty between two gangs was bad enough but to be a part of a rivaling one… He'd be so fucking dead.

Bill couldn't risk that. His life was far more important than the life of this man-child, and he wouldn't sit by while the kid was a threat to his own preservation. He _knew_ the kid recognized him from somewhere, he saw it in his eyes, the look so familiar since it was often written across his victims' terrified faces before they took a last breath. There was no way he couldn't remember anything, that lying fuck.

Still, he couldn't accuse the kid without suspicion being drawn to him. He needed to figure out a way to get close to this Dipper, to get him to squeal before Stan did. "Are you _sure_ you only saw your parents?"

He observed keenly as Dipper bit his lip, the redness draining from his cheeks, and he felt Dipper shift uncomfortably beneath him. "Y-yeah, something like that."

That wasn't an acceptable answer, Pine Tree! He was tempted to holler at the stupid kid, scare him into talking. " _Something_ like that?" Bill pressed with some impatience. "What else did you see, kid?"

Dipper puffed out an exasperated breath. "Jeez, can you give it a rest?! I don't know what your obsession with this is but seriously, man." Those big damn eyes of his had tears in them again, and he strained brokenly, " _My parents just died_."

Had he not made it clear he didn't fucking care? People died all the time, it wasn't unusual in Los Santos. They were simply a number in the grand scheme of the cosmos. "Go to bed, kid." His voice had dropped to an agitated growl, displeased by how their discussion had gone. "You're useless right now." Bill shuffled to return to his spot on the arm of the sofa, freeing Dipper's legs.

Dipper seemed to be waiting for the moment since he quickly swiveled to pull them away, standing from the sofa only to wobble dangerously, not unlike a fawn learning to walk, and he caught himself on the railing. "So boring that you put my legs to sleep," he muttered under his breath before stiffly walking toward the sliding door, heading inside without another word.

"Wish I could put you to sleep," Bill quietly murmured as he looked to the sky. He was real sick of the kid already, and there was an itch in his fingers to pull out his gun and put him down like he watched Robbie do to his parents. He would abstain from that though… for now. Until he got more information out of that damn kid. In the meantime, he wanted to enjoy what he could of the fading stars because if it weren't for Dipper, he would've been able to watch the whole beautiful show of constellations.

What a selfish fuck.

The only upside had been the birthmark, but it was a shame it had to be attached to such a pain-in-the-ass brat.

A tempting thought occurred to him: if he killed Dipper, he could probably make a human skin wallet with that birthmark, touch it whenever he wanted, and never hear another sassy word from that kid's mouth. Excellent.


	3. Chapter 3

The hallway loomed before him, everything intact, nothing out of place. It was perfect, so serene. Dipper inhaled as he gathered his courage and took a step forward.

But there was something wrong when a forming darkness loomed over him, the walls closing in and the room stretching as he walked. He knew his bare feet were brushing over the soft fabric of the rugs but couldn't feel the sensation, his senses seemed to be completely turned off except for the increasingly-crushing dread. Although he knew it was a bad idea, Dipper raised his eyes to the end of the hall, and there he saw it. His face drained of color. Every inch of him was frozen.

The golden lion.

It was like the weight of the world settled on his ribcage. Every time he made a ragged gasp for air it only squeezed more oxygen from him.

The mansion erupted into the sounds of gunfire and shouting, the screams panicked and shrill and he couldn't even tell if _he_ was the one making that noise as everything went red but knew he needed to get out, needed to escape or he was going to die. In the next second, he was falling, soaring toward the floor but could do nothing to stop it, muscles rendered utterly useless because his body was paralyzed.

There was a coppery tang in his mouth. The unmistakable taste of blood. A horrifying realization came to him: he'd been caught in the crossfire and was bleeding out, watching the world blur together as his blood gushed from him—

With a terrified gasp, Dipper's eyes flew open to reveal that he was still in the guest bedroom.

Safe. Not about to be sprayed by bullets, nor bleeding to death.

And gradually, he tried to get his racing heart to relax. Although he wasn't in immediate danger, his breathing was was still erratic and rushed, like he couldn't get enough oxygen into his system no matter how many desperate gulps of air he took.

The familiar tidal wave of grief had Dipper's throat tightening, but no tears came this time. After everything that'd happened last night, he felt cried out, too exhausted to physically express his misery, but he shoved his pain aside to wonder how Mabel was doing. Their last conversation had been filled with mournful sobs and hardly-intelligible words, and he'd felt so helpless, an absolute failure of a brother, being unable to bring comfort to her.

Glancing to his side, he was startled to notice that Mabel was gone, sending a bolt of worry through him because after talking with Bill, he distinctly recalled curling up beside her, so where—

A sudden rise of laughter coming from the next room gave him a clue of where she might be, but he remained wary.

With the laughter fading and giving way to muffled chatter, Dipper dragged himself out of bed and slipped into a fresh pair of clothing, but even his beloved plaid shirt didn't ease his grieving mind. It only made his heart ache harder since the garment smelled of home.

He exited the guest bedroom only to find his suspicions confirmed: the main living space was bustling with people. Rubbing the sleep from his vision, he squinted to make sense of what was happening, the copious amount of sunlight stinging his eyes but he could see a rather cheery Mabel perched on the secular sofa with Bill and Stan as the television droned on in the background, meanwhile Ford was stationed at a nearby whiteboard.

He was relieved upon determining it was the one with maps and blueprints, not the board with faces of rival gang members on it. He still found the concept sickening.

Mabel was gesturing wildly, talking about some thing or another — he couldn't quite hear the details over the sound of Stan's laughs and comments. Even Ford seemed to dip into the conversation once and a while, the only one unengaged was Bill. He was on his phone, probably looking up murder porn or baby butts or something. Creep.

It was strange to see him awake again, and he was left wondering if Bill ever slept. But to be fair, it likely didn't take much rest to keep a stone heart beating.

Interestingly, it seemed like he was even wearing the same clothes at a glance, but a moment of closer inspection deemed this untrue — although they were mostly the same color, the patterns were different. Did he just have a closet full of yellow and black suits with subtle differences?

Dipper internally groaned as he remembered the encounter with him the previous night, or perhaps it was early this morning, that'd left him with mixed thoughts on the guy. Mostly negative. Borderline completely negative. The bottom line was Bill had been a total dick to him while all he'd wanted to do was grieve for his lost parents.

"Kid!" Stan had noticed him though he'd been standing there a while, turning in the sofa to greet him. "Did ya get knocked out or somethin'? It's noon! We've been waiting for ya to get your ass out of bed all morning. I was tempted to unleash Mabel on ya."

Following Stan's line of sight, Mabel smiled and waved at him with enthusiasm in her movements. "Hi bro-bro! About time!"

He balked when his eyes rested on the clock, confirming Stan's statement. It was noon already? It didn't seem possible since he could rarely sleep past ten on any given day, but he figured he'd been exhausted from… well, everything.

Snapping him from his thoughts, Mabel said, "Don't just stand there, come relax on the comfy sofa and watch some TV!" She motioned to the spot beside her own, and he wasn't sure how she could be so cheerful considering the wound was fresh, but nevertheless moved to sit beside his sister.

Although he was tempted to ask how long she'd been awake, that could wait until later; her positive attitude (while not unusual for Mabel was extremely odd under the circumstances) had him concerned, and the fact she'd spent her morning getting friendly with a criminal gang wasn't helping. It was nice that she was no longer bottling the grief by staying in Sweater Town and avoiding contact with everyone, refusing to utter a single word, but this couldn't be healthy either. Maybe she just managed her emotions better than he did.

Dipper scanned the room, noting it looked less eerie in the noon light with the bright sun rays warming the furniture instead of giving it a ghastly glow. His eyes drifted to Stan, and he remembered that he'd said something about waiting for him earlier. "You've been waiting for me?" he questioned, wondering what they could want from him but hoping it was unrelated to what'd happened with Bill… Had he told anyone about his half-hearted suicide attempt? A stone formed in his stomach as he thought about the rest of Stan's crew knowing… or Mabel. The thought was enough to make him shudder: anyone but Mabel, she couldn't know about the moment he perceived as weakness.

"Well, no. Not really. We've mostly been waiting on Wendy and Soos to get their asses here in prep for a job." Wendy was a familiar name, but Soos? Upon seeing his confusion, Stan clarified, "They're members of our crew, but they don't live here. And now they can't as long as you're here, since we don't have room unless they wanna sleep on the floor."

"Stanley, the others, and I will be heading out on a standard reconnaissance mission," Ford informed him, only briefly looking away from the maps of various locations in Los Santos, "and you and Mabel will be using today to acquire whatever you'll need to be comfortable while staying with us."

Stan translated his brother's statement, "Bill will be babysitting you and chauffeuring you around to shop."

Well, that was just wonderful.

From beside him, he heard Mabel sharply inhale in excitement only to whine, "But we don't have any money! What do you want us to do, _steal_?" Dipper could answer that for her: no, they were _not_ going to stoop to these criminals' level because even if they were being forced to live with them for a while, they were better than that.

Luckily, Stan echoed his thoughts and clarified, "There'll be no need to steal, sweetie!" While relieved they wouldn't be thieves, Dipper frowned as he realized something — Stan called her _sweetie_ , a… a term of endearment, and he decided Mabel was definitely getting too close to these people. The point was to keep them at arm's lengths, not befriend a pack of criminals. "You'll be using our cards. If they bitch about the names being scratched off, tell them to suck a lemon."

Dipper's gaze snapped to Bill who hadn't even looked up from his phone during this discussion. "Does _he_ have to go with us?" he asked, the inquiry directed at Stan since he was pretty sure he would prefer anyone else. "I don't think he's qualified to babysit. He was _literally_ sitting on me this morning." Not just once, but multiple times, and that wasn't even scraping the surface of the other instances of manhandling, or when he thought it was appropriate to start touching his birthmark in the most disturbing way possible.

Stan laughed, brushing away the concern. "Sounds like a great babysitter to me! But yes, you're stuck with Bill. No one else is available today to look after ya."

Still examining the whiteboard and making notes, Ford said, "We've made the best of being stuck with him. You'll learn to as well."

"Love ya too, Fordsy." Bill finally spoke, though his eyes remained on the illuminated screen of his phone, meanwhile Dipper was surprised to hear from him, as he hadn't thought he was paying attention to the conversation.

He wished he could add in a follow up question — was Bill a total asshole to everybody, or just him? It seemed to be leaning toward the former, but it was like Stan and Ford actually had developed a tolerance for it.

"Oh, and Bill? Don't get attached to these two." Stan couldn't finish before Mabel cut in, exclaiming: "We _are_ really lovable!" followed by a scoff from Bill. "We're releasing them once shit calms down. Looks like it's finally on, too." Stan beckoned toward the large flat screen television, where the news anchors were covering the murders and 'kidnappings.'

"An investigation of the gruesome scene has led to more questions than answers, and the Los Santos Police Department has been working tirelessly in this case to determine the whereabouts of..." it droned on but he'd tuned out already, caught up in his thoughts. The report seemed to be under the impression the Ravagers had kidnapped them because of the insignia left behind at the scene.

He grew light-headed as a picture of him and Mabel appeared on the screen, and the anchors advised anyone who had details of their locations to call the police immediately.

It felt like a weird fever dream to be seeing his family on television like this. His parents, being politicians, made several appearances but the coverage of their murders… it was much different. It was dizzying, and he couldn't believe what was before his eyes. The surreal sensation had returned.

"The media has been droning on about a supposed kidnapping for hours now," Ford supplied, "so it remains in your best interest to stay here."

Dipper hardly heard Ford, too entranced by what he was seeing on the screen and rendered unable to look away as everything hit him again. Even now, it didn't seem like this could be reality. His reality, at least. Any second now, he would be waking from this nightmare and be safe in his bed, his parents alive and all of this erased, put behind them.

The sound of the door opening stole his attention, and he looked in time to see two individuals, talking amongst each other, enter the penthouse. One was a younger female, red headed and sporting a relaxed smile, and the other was a male, slightly on the pudgy side and looking nervous. His knuckles tapped together.

Dipper inferred they must be Soos and Wendy, the fellow crew members Stan had mentioned waiting for earlier.

"Hey!" the female greeted them, brushing her hair out of her face.

Her companion joined her in the greetings. "Hey dudes!"

"Wendy, Soos, perfect timing," Ford addressed the newcomers and moved from the whiteboard, gathering several backpacks that laid near the door, offering it to the pair. "Take these, you'll be needing them today."

"You got it," Wendy responded with a decisive nod, then peered beyond Ford as her eyes flicked from him to Mabel. "Are these the kids you mentioned?"

Soos followed her line of sight, giving them a kind wave. "Yeah, I don't think I recognize the two of you.." he let out a soft chuckle before correcting himself. "Well, I do, but it's nice to meet you in person."

"You betcha," Stan said. "But they won't be accompanyin' us. They're only here for their own safety, not to help us out."

And that was a good thing, Dipper noted silently. He didn't think he wanted to dabble in their line of work.

"We'll have time for introductions later. Now, are both you ready to depart?" Ford asked, indicating the question was for Soos and Wendy.

"Yep!" They answered in near unison.

"Alright, let's go," Stan said. "Kids, have fun with Bill! Don't let him drive ya off a cliff!" The door slammed behind him, leaving him and Mabel alone with the man in question. He looked disinterested, but that was nothing new.

But Dipper couldn't stop himself from muttering, "Not a bad fate if the alternative is a day with you." He was hoping Bill would drive them where they needed to go, and that would be the extent of his involvement. Even better, he could blatantly disobey Stan and leave them to fend for themselves, and that wouldn't be an issue because Dipper was quite fluent in navigating public transportation in this city.

Bill glanced up from his phone. "Sorry, was that the wind PMSing in my ear?"

"No, that's just Dipper!"

Dipper flushed, wanting to elbow Mabel. She was supposed to be on his side, not helping Bill make fun of him since he already seemed to be inclined to do so.

"Ah, so a PMSing twink. Hot."

And now he didn't know which one to yell at, but huffily settled on, "I thought we determined I wasn't blond enough for that."

Bill shrugged, his attention returning to his phone as he flicked the page down with his fingertip. "That's what hair dye's for, cutie."

"Oh? I would've never guessed since yours just looks so natural," he snarked, raising an eyebrow.

Bill's expression darkened. "Looks better splattered with the blood of a PSMing little bitch."

Although he shuddered at the thought, he didn't feel particularly threatened when Bill had many opportunities to off him last night when there were no witnesses around, and the important piece was that he hadn't. He didn't know why Bill hadn't let him jump but was thankful for it, not that he was convinced he would've been able to do it anyway.

The television snagged his attention again, commercials coming to an end to feature more coverage on his parents' deaths. He watched as the news anchor gave what information they currently had, and proceeded to cut to a shot of witness interviews — something stirred in him, something… _frustrated_. Dipper didn't know why he felt irrationally angry toward them, but he did. They talked as if they knew their parents, as if they knew _them_. As if they knew a single thing about the situation.

He felt sick again and didn't want to keep watching.

"Hey Mabel," he started, an anxious edge in his voice, "can we talk somewhere?" He shot a sideways glance at Bill, not that he noticed, being too captivated by his phone to care. "Alone, I mean."

"Uh," Mabel seemed to hesitate, like she wanted to hang out with Bill longer, and he was worried he may have his hands full. They needed to talk about this. "Sure!"

Before Stan left, he'd told Bill not to get attached to them. As far as Dipper was concerned, the same rule should apply to Mabel for everybody's safety; getting attached to these people would only lead to trouble.

With her agreement, Dipper gently snatched her wrist and led her to their bedroom, closing the door behind him. He leaned against the ivory-painted wood, frowning in sympathy as he looked at her. "What are you doing?" He hadn't intended it to sound so accusatory. "How long have you been talking with them?"

She stepped away from him, in favor of flopping onto the bed, her arms and legs splaying out carelessly on the ruffled sheets. "Oh, I dunno! I talked to them a lot this morning while you were asleep. They're pretty nice!"

"What? No." The response was automatic and he shook his head quickly, even more concerned. "No, Mabel, they aren't _nice_ ," that was like calling a ticking bomb 'nice', "they're… criminals, gangsters, murderers." She could pick a word, none were flattering. He didn't care how nice they seemed to be, they were the epitome of what was morally wrong about society!

"I think you need to get out of your head a bit more and _actually_ talk to people for once!"

"We're not here to make friends!" he stressed. "These people are _dangerous_." Sure, they had the appearance of being refined when they were all standing around chatting, but he knew all that could slip at the drop of a hat if necessary.

"C'mon bro-bro, we should make the most of this. Being pouty because a group of _nice_ guys took us in after… yesterday… isn't being a good guest. Lighten up!" She threw a pillow in his direction, and he grunted as it smacked him in the face before falling to the floor.

"But… criminals!" Dipper squeaked, motioning toward the door — well, more specifically what was on the other side. " _Criminals!_ " He was horrified to learn they had managed to win over Mabel's affection with smooth words, and he didn't want her to get hurt.

"Just because you're a criminal doesn't mean you're a jerk. You're being more mean than they are!"

"Look, I don't know about the others, but Bill is a jerk, confirmed." Last night or this morning—whatever—had demonstrated that without a doubt. As for Stan and Ford, he didn't know them well enough to come to any conclusion other than 'gang-member-to-be-avoided' and the same went for Wendy and Soos.

Mabel shook her head, rolling in the bed. "Sounds like you haven't talked to Bill! He's really funny and charming."

There it was, that was what he was afraid of, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He recognized Bill could be outwardly charming, but that was how he lured in his _victims_.

"Though…" she paused thoughtfully, "he may have threatened to cut off my fingers, but that was only because I tried to touch his piano! Other than that, he's great!"

Dipper blinked for a moment—the baby grand in the penthouse was _his_ piano?—but shook off the thought since there were bigger problems to consider. "See, that's exactly what I'm talking about! Nice people don't _do_ that!" Especially not over touching a piano, concluding that Bill was certainly not great, he was far from it.

"You just don't get out enough." She dismissed his concerns with a small wave of her hand. How could she be so careless, throwing caution to the wind like this when she knew as well as he did that it was a terrible idea?

"Mabel!" Dipper whined. "You're not listening to me! We can't trust these people, we don't even know if they actually have good intentions or if that's just a front to get us to fall into their trap of deceit." He wasn't putting anything past them. They were living outside the law and morals of society, and he doubted they would stop at anything to get what they wanted.

Mabel began to shake her head. "You're sounding more paranoid than grandpa when he got diagnosed with–"

"Hey cuties!" A knock on the door interrupted her. "Are ya ready to go shopping? Stan wants us back before they are."

"Not a good time, man!" he snapped to Bill. Didn't he realize they were trying to have a private discussion in here? This was important to him, a conversation they needed to have because he couldn't lose Mabel too. Dipper wasn't done trying to get through to his sister, wishing he could make her see this wasn't a good path to blindly trust everybody on.

Already up from the bed and halfway across the room, she tsked him as she opened the door, a movement that knocked him forward. "You need to be nicer, Dipper! No wonder you don't have friends!" With that, Mabel was gone, bounding out of the bedroom to head to who-knew-where.

Bill smirked as he stepped into the room, successfully ruining any plans Dipper had of trying to close him out again. "You should really listen to your sister, Pine Tree. You're the black sheep of the penthouse right now, which sucks for ya 'cause you stick out like a sore thumb on our white furniture."

Dipper retorted, "I don't _want_ to fit in here. If I did, I'd be no better than you."

"Would you rather be pulp on the sidewalk? I can arrange that if you'd like."

A short, bitter laugh escaped him as he remembered how Mabel had called Bill _nice_ , so nice that he was outright threatening to kill him. What an upstanding fellow, this one was. "I'll pass, thanks." Dipper shuffled to squeeze past Bill through the doorway.

It was thwarted when he felt Bill's fingers grasp the collar of his shirt, pulling him back into Bill. Arms closed around him, Bill lifted him up into a bridal style position as he squawked in alarm, instinctively tensing and trying to cling to Bill to avoid being dropped. Like last night, he didn't find the sudden manhandling to be the most pleasant experience, but there was still worse he could do.

He was carried out of the room and toward the door to the balcony, and though his grip tightened, he maintained what he hoped was a brave face even as he was being held hundreds of feet above the streets of Los Santos while horror flooded through him. This was what Bill had been waiting for, he'd waited until they were relatively alone with no Stan and Ford around and no witnesses and Mabel somehow thought he was a nice guy so she'd probably say it was an accident…

"Any last words, my little portefeuille de peau?"

Before he could respond or question what the hell he'd just called him, Mabel was bouncing over with a gleeful "hey!" as she joined them on the balcony. After seeing the way Bill was carrying him, she asked with increasing excitement, "What's going on? Is this your honeymoon? Can I go?"

"Dude! Let me down!" Dipper complained, but didn't dare struggle in his grip in case he actually managed to free himself; he didn't trust Bill to keep an unwavering grasp, and he didn't want to go soaring toward the pavement.

"I dunno," Bill contemplated, a twisted smirk etched on his face. "I like the honeymoon idea, sugar."

Blushing fiercely from the implication, he _really_ wanted to squirm away but couldn't do much except cling to Bill. Dipper's voice cracked as he said, "No way, man! You are the absolute _worst_."

In response, Bill chuckled. "But I'm the best in bed. You wanna ride, cutie? I could show you a good time."

" _Oh my god_ ," he whined, desperately wishing he could cover his face with his hands but not daring to let go of Bill despite feeling fairly secure in his arms. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be hearing this. "Mabel, help!"

"Is that a yes?"

Mabel squealed. "This is soo _cute_! Say yes, Dipper! Ooh, I wish Stan didn't make me leave my phone behind! But after we're done shopping today, we can make an 'Everytime We Touch' music video starring you two!"

That wasn't helpful at all. In fact, he was pretty sure it made things worse. After a second of consideration, he sighed irritably and directed his gaze to Bill's, _loathing_ that stupid smirk on his face. "Court me first, asshole." It was a snippy joke— he ultimately just wanted to be allowed back on his feet again. On safe ground.

Somehow, his smirk seemed to grow. Dipper's stomach dropped. "Consider it done, cutie." He released him by lightly setting his feet onto the ground. "Are you two ready to go shopping?"

Dipper shook his head and explained, "I need to shower before we go anywhere." He hadn't showered since yesterday, before… he willed himself not to get choked up, he couldn't break down again. Not when Mabel seemed to be okay.

"Be quick, cutie. Think of me while you're scrubbing yourself. I know I'll be thinking of you." He winked.

Frowning, he rolled his eyes as he stalked away, but before he disappeared into the bathroom, he called over his shoulder to Bill, "I can't believe I liked it better when you were a dickwad."

After fifteen minutes or so, Dipper finished showering and drying off. He had heard shuffling outside and Mabel and Bill talking quietly, and that was… concerning. Very concerning.

Stepping outside the bathroom once he was dressed, the following scene unfolded: Bill and his sister were chittering quietly, grins on their faces, and they broke away conspicuously once they saw him watching. He caught a glimpse of Bill shoving _something_ dark into his pocket. Probably another item that he could use to kill them with while they were out. Honestly, Dipper was still distrustful of everyone in the crew.

"Cutie!" Bill greeted him. "Did you think of me?"

Flatly, he replied, "I thought about how much I hate you, yeah."

Why did that smirk never go away? "You love me so much you think you hate me."

"Pretty sure I just straight up hate you." With the death of his parents, his emotions were a complete mess and had betrayed him on plenty of occasions recently, but this he knew was certainly true. He did not like Bill.

"Mm-hmm," he hummed without a care in the world, "that's what you think. Are you ready to go yet, my darling mirror warmer?"

His eyes narrowed at the biting _endearment_ , and Dipper asked sarcastically, "You're not going to give me a chance to put on my makeup?"

"Are you going to take an hour like all the other ladies?"

Having had his fill of Bill's dumb antics, Dipper brushed past him to collect his shoes and slide them on. Already antsy to leave, Mabel stood in the entryway, looking like she was about to burst from happiness. Dipper could've groaned.

They left the penthouse together, going downstairs into the expansive garage. It was almost impressive how many expensive vehicles were in the building.

Mabel squealed in excitement as she ran toward the slew of golden cars parked together. "They're so SHINY!"

The owner was hardly a mystery. "Jeez, status symbol much?"

"Only for those who can't afford it," Bill responded with his everlasting smirk as he unlocked one of the many gold cars, the lights blinking on. "Get in, Pine Tree. Don't jizz on my seat."

Between the fancy paneling and cushioned leather seats, he could see why Bill wouldn't want any messes, lewd or not. "Don't worry," he said as he climbed in the passenger side, "looking at you will kill basically all of my arousal, forever." He could hear Mabel get in behind him, the door slamming closed, and leaned back in the seat to revel in the comfort. Even if he thought it was a dick move to show off his wealth via expensive vehicles, Dipper appreciated the luxurious interior that had the faint scent of spicy honey hanging in the air. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't place exactly where he'd smelled it before.

"Sounds like you might have erectile dysfunction. You want some viagra? I think Stan has some in his room."

Although Bill was probably joking (he hoped so, at least), he wondered why Stan would need it since he looked like he was in his thirties.

Mabel jumped into the discussion, her feet kicking his seat. "Is it because he has to sleep with the uptight one?"

Bill chuckled. "Yeah, must be _hard_ to sleep with your own twin brother."

Was that a pun? He didn't want to dwell on it. "Wait, they're… brothers?" Dipper didn't know why he hadn't seen it before when it made sense in retrospect. He'd just never had an opportunity to look at them closely enough to realize the similarities in their features.

Bill nodded, getting into the driver's seat turning the ignition switch. The car came to life with a low rumble. "Did ya not notice, Pine Tree? Maybe you're not as bright as you pretend you are."

He hadn't seen them up close many times. Just once, really, and there'd been much bigger issues then. "Considering my parents were laying _dead_ down the hallway," he snapped, "no, I didn't notice the similarities."

"You should pay more attention." They had pulled out of the garage, going onto the main road.

"Thanks, I'll remember that for the next time my parents are being slaughtered and two strangers who happen to be twin brothers are kidnapping me."

In the back, they could hear Mabel giggle. "Lover's quarrel! Are you going to kiss now?"

"Sure," Bill said with a noncommittal shrug. "Pucker up, sugar. Do it for your dear sister." Dipper tensed as they soared past a stop sign, wondering why Bill didn't even _put his foot near the brake_. At this rate, they wouldn't make it to the mall.

He rested his body against the passenger door, putting as much space as he could between himself and Bill just in case he tried something. "Gross, no."

"Dipper," Mabel whined. "Please?"

"No!" Maybe Mabel had forgotten that he didn't like Bill. At all. And there was nothing genuine about… about whatever this weird roleplay was that Bill and Mabel were dragging him into.

"Ah," Bill said. "Still PMSing I see. Does that ever stop, or are you perpetually a little bitch?" Dipper motioned between himself and Bill, using the rearview mirror to glance at Mabel. "See what I mean? He's a jerk, not _nice_."

"Guess that answers that." Bill's reply caused him to scowl. Their vehicle swerved into the other lane, causing bleating horns to erupt around them and Dipper to squeak in panic.

"What are you doing, man?!"

"Driving, you should try it sometime Pine Tree!" Yeah, he wasn't going to drive like a _maniac_. They almost hit the car behind them, and he wondered if he even used a turn signal. He hadn't heard the indicator.

Mabel smiled at Dipper. "He's just playing! You should learn how to take a joke, Dippy Bro-bro."

Maybe he would be able to handle it better if it weren't constant, or if that dumb smirk wasn't always on his face while he did it. Bill's teasing was relentless and crude, and he wanted no part in this. "Playing or not, doesn't change the fact that he's a prick." Dipper hadn't forgotten last night, his threats and antagonizing and oh right, _being sat on_ while he was obsessed with making him talk about his parents' murders. He didn't want to recount that horrible sight, it already haunted him enough as it was.

He could hear Bill hum beside him. They were rapidly approaching a traffic light, and Bill blasted through it as the yellow dot turned red. Yep, they were gonna die before they even got to shopping. "Don't you love it when girls PMS, Mabel? It's always them bitching about menial subjects. 'He's a jerk!'," he began to imitate, "'he slept with my mom and got my parents to divorce', 'he's the asshole who shanked my dad and mugged me!' Great Grus, they're such little bitches."  
Well. Bill clearly had some issues.

To his horror, Mabel made an affirming noise. "Been there, brother!" He shot her a warning look in the rearview mirror; again, she wasn't supposed to be fraternizing with these people, much less Bill who was probably the worst of them all. Sometimes, he wished his sister wasn't so likeable to everyone she met, since it now seemed she and Bill had a budding friendship which was founded on the apparently fun pastime: ganging up on him. He already got enough of that from them separately, so this was the last thing he needed.

Dipper's expression was twisted into a pout as he stayed leaned against the passenger door, arms folded in discontent while he listened to Bill cracking up in laughter. "Yeah, having Dipper as a sister puts you in that position a lot, doesn't it Shooting Star?"

He didn't want to hear her answer and interrupted their conversation with a question, "Where are we going, anyway?" He could see the iconic Vinewood sign in the distance, growing smaller as they headed deeper into the heart of the city.

"Shopping, Pine Tree! The closest mall around here is the Rockford Plaza."

Mabel brightened, squealing, "We're going to the mall?! Ohmygosh, this is the best day _ever_! I can't wait to get new shoes, and dresses, and jeans, and— _ooh_! A new phone!"

He wondered if it would be too late to ask if they could get a leash for Mabel, concerned her over-excitement would take over and she'd be a whirlwind through the mall, probably drawing all the attention to her.. which would be fine, except they were supposed to be laying low.

"Buy whatever you want." Bill glanced back at Mabel. "It's not my money you're spending, so go fuckin' crazy."

He heard Mabel screech eagerly and winced from the shrill sound. "Hope you're ready to tell Stan that he's completely broke later."

A rumble of laughter escaped Bill. "That'll be your jobs. Or don't tell him, and let him find out when he tries to buy booze."

"Geez, no thanks. Unlike you, he might actually have the guts to throw me off the balcony for that."

The amusement on Bill's face faded. "No, he wouldn't throw you off the balcony. He's too much of a softy to do that. He'll have me cut off your thieving fingers, though."

"Just mine?" Dipper raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't planning on buying out the mall." If only the same could be said for Mabel.

"Sorry, Pine Tree. She's sucked up to him so much he likes her."

"He calls me 'sweetie!'"

Dipper muttered flatly, "And Bill calls me 'sugar', but I wouldn't be caught dead sucking up to him." That reminded him of something that'd been nagging ever since last night, but he hadn't cared enough to question it before. Shifting his attention to Bill, he asked, "Speaking of, what's with the terms of endearment?"

"Would you rather me insult you until you run away like a crybaby?"

"They already sound like insults, it's like you're calling me fuckface every time you say _cutie_."

Bill smirked. "You are a fuckface, cutie."

"Oh, _swoon_ , you're stealing my heart, asshole," Dipper snapped sarcastically. "You suck at courting."

"Please doll, I haven't even started."

"Just kiss already!"

Dipper ignored her to muse, "Wonder what that'll entail. Should I expect mutilated animal corpses outside my bedroom door with creepy love notes attached?"

"No, but I will gift you pieces of your parents. Don't mind that they might be decaying a lil', cutie. Maybe that'll get you to shut the fuck up about them."

Paling, Dipper gagged at the mere idea and wasn't sure whether he wanted to sob or vomit. He had been trying so hard to get them off his mind and it'd been working too, but.. he suppressed a sigh. He didn't want to think about how he'd seen them last. He _definitely_ didn't want to think about seeing pieces of them either, decaying pieces at that.

The sly smirk on Bill's face only grew. Like some monster from a horror movie. "I thought you'd like that. Can you just imagine their cold, rotting skin outside your door?"

"Knock it off." While he'd meant to growl, it sounded a little broken, shaky. He was fighting the nausea that threatened to overtake him— though, it would be satisfying to puke all over Bill's fancy car.

Bill looked like he was going to say more, but he glanced back at the sound of a sob behind them and remained silent.

The heartbreaking noise of Mabel's sadness stabbed him in the gut.

"Mabel?" Dipper asked, his voice gentle while his eyes searched the rearview mirror and landed on her. She had burrowed herself in her sweater, and he could see her body wrack as she cried. The sight was making him want to break down too, his throat tightening. "It's okay, Mabel. He didn't mean it. I swear." He was desperate to reassure her, to promise it was alright even though it certainly wasn't, and his eyes flashed with anger as they settled on Bill again _._

Bill met Dipper's gaze, and pointedly he reached to turn up the volume on the radio, masking the sounds of Mabel's sniffling with pop music.

Dipper just turned away from him, still furious that he'd been horrible enough to upset Mabel. If anything good would come of this, at least Mabel would see Bill was about as nice as stomping on a lego.


	4. Chapter 4

Flo Rida and Taio Cruz were significantly more pleasant to listen to than the whiny brats crying about their dead parents. Seriously, no one cared. Ever. Not now or in all of history. The only reason Stan and Ford wanted to save them in the first place was because their mother sucked at her job and had been lax on gang and criminal activity during her term as mayor.

Other than the kickass music, the ride had been silent. Dipper had been shooting him glares that he seemed to think were oh-so-subtle from the way he averted his gaze whenever Bill would look over, and he was sure Mabel was still hiding in her shirt, but why should he care? For a change, they were quiet about how horrible their pathetic lives were. Maybe he did feel a little bad about Mabel since she'd been good company earlier and he'd had fun harassing Dipper with her, but oh well. She'd live. Probably. Unless she pulled a Pine Tree and tried to jump.

That wasn't his problem though, and he was done playing savior for these brats since he wasn't the one set on sheltering them in the first place.

Bill pulled into the parking lot of Rockford Plaza and threw his car into park, turning the radio down enough to allow them to hear. "Come on, cuties!" He said, breaking the silence between them all as he turned his vehicle off. "Let's get something to eat, shall we? Cluckin' Bell is inside. It's on Stan." He sure as hell wasn't paying for the cheap sludge they called food.

Once they were seated in the food court and had their meals, Dipper was staring critically at said sludge. "I'm starting to think I'd rather not eat at all…"

"It's better than it looks," Bill assured him. "Trust me, the Stuffed Pollo Todo Frito is to _die_ for." A little on the cruel side, but worth it since he could see Dipper's knuckles whiten where they grasped the edge of the table, and he gave his sister a concerned glance.

But Mabel seemed to have pulled herself together, picking up her fried chicken and digging in. "Why do they have weird food names?'

"Because kids love Little Peckers!" Why was she asking him? Bill wasn't the dumbass who decided these were acceptable names.

Dipper frowned and stirred in his seat. This kid was a serial fidgeter. "You're not helping my appetite here, man."

Bill chuckled softly. "You really need to ease up, Pine Tree. Relax for a change and enjoy your Fowlburger." It probably had rat shit in it, but Dipper likely wouldn't notice because of all the grease and what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. For now.

"How are you not seeing this?" he asked, using his fork to dismantle the hodgepodge of slop that Cluckin' Bell somehow passed off as food. There was a grease-coated meat patty inside, probably not entirely made of chicken or even thoroughly cooked, and a couple flecks of green and white spotted the bun. "It's disgusting."

"Not everyone is privileged enough to be accustomed to your fancy, home-cooked mayor meals." Bill took a bite of his wrap, nose wrinkling at the taste. It was like trying to chew a tub of animal lard.

"All I'm asking for is... slightly sanitary practices."

Mabel was already nearly done with her food, licking her fingers one-by-one and making smacking sounds. "You should try it, Dipper! It _is_ better than it looks!"

"Um," he seemed to hesitate, looking over the burger before shaking his head. "I don't think I—"

"I call it!" Mabel was quick as lightning, snatching the food away from him to start eating it herself, making loud 'mm' noises as if to demonstrate what he was missing out on for passing up his chance with the burger while Dipper looked mildly horrified by the sight.

Bill was starting to understand why Dipper was as light as he was. Maybe skipping meals had stunted his growth too. "Kid, I really need to get you on a scale." He knew he had mentioned it before, but he kind of wanted to fatten him up in his spare time because as it was, it seemed like a gust of wind could blow Dipper away like a piece of paper. Would be fun to watch, but Stan wouldn't approve.

"I'm not getting on a scale to indulge you," he said dryly.

"I didn't say you'd do it willingly, cutie."

He caught the eye-roll that Dipper gave him. "What are you going to do, carry me onto it? I don't know what your deal is with picking me up."

Bill grinned, as he rather did like carrying the kid since it seemed to piss him off and it was a breeze to do. "That was the plan. I know my weight, it'd be easy to get yours." Did Dipper not think he'd do this? He was genuinely curious about his weight, and he'd get it whether Dipper was willing to give it up or not.

"Are you going to whip out a measuring tape to get my height too? Ford already gave me a physical last night, I don't need one from you."

"Sugar, if I gave you a physical it'd be a hell of a lot sweatier on your end."

Dipper paled, looking away, but Mabel cut in, "I love sweaters!"

"Sweat, Shooting Star. Not sweaters." It wasn't that he was interested in that whiny crybaby, Bill craved Dipper's reactions to sexual comments because they were amusing. It was one of the few things he enjoyed about the kid. "I'm referring to fucking Pine Tree senseless." At that, Dipper emitted a strangled sound, some sort of wheezy squeak of surprise as his eyes went wide.

His reaction didn't exactly scream enthusiasm but if Pine Tree did want sex at some point, Bill wouldn't mind getting a taste of the kid. Wasn't at the top of his to-do list but who was he to reject? He'd already fooled around with almost everyone else–with the exception of Ford who'd rejected his offer, but he'd get him someday. Determining how Dipper measured up to everybody was part of the fun. Besides, he'd never had the chance to cum on a constellation birthmark before.

Although Mabel seemed momentarily disappointed, her usual glee was back. "Oh… can I watch?"

He felt Dipper tense beside him, looking embarrassed and irritated. " _No_ , and we're not… not doing that."

That was worthy of a low snicker. "You say that now, but I'll get ya, sugar."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed. "Just go get it on with someone else's mom and cause another divorce. Stay away from me."

Ah, he must've been listening to that comment he'd made earlier.

"I had sex with her daughter too," he informed him, triumphantly puffing his chest. "I could have sex with you if I wanted to. You'll cave soon." He'd turn the Big Dipper into the Milky Way.

Dipper's expression was skeptical, and he shook his head. "Uh, nope. Absolutely not. You're horrible, and I still hate you."

"For someone who says that so much, you say it fondly." Bill lightly flicked his arm, and Dipper responded by putting a bit more space between them.

"About as fondly as you call me _cutie_ , jackass," Dipper retorted.

"I say that with the utmost fondness, honeybun."

Shooting Star was too focused on working down the Fowlburger to say anything. The pool of grease on her tray was about as disgusting as Dipper's personality, but amazingly, she was almost finished with it, choking down the last bite.

"When are we going shopping? I want to buy _everything_!"

Dipper started rising from his seat. "Yeah, let's go, Mabel."

"Hold up you two." Bill got to his feet. "You can't go together. If anyone recognizes you, it's game over and you'll end up in the hands of some crooked cops. Split up, keep your head down." He didn't think they'd run into issues considering how oblivious the people of this city were, but it wasn't worth the risk. "And with that said, you don't even have money yet."

Which he immediately resolved, withdrawing two cards with scratched out names from his pocket and hanging them to the kids. They were under one of Stan's many adopted aliases, the true identity holder probably long dead. He followed the cards with two fat stacks of twenties. "Don't spend it all in one place, cuties! Let's meet back here when you're done, okay?"

"YES! WHEE!" Mabel had snatched the money up and was already on the move. "See you suckers later! Have fun making out!"

And with that, Mabel disappeared among the other shoppers, looking like she was on a mission. Bill wondered if Stan would regret giving that one access to one of his bank accounts.

It was mildly surprising when Dipper didn't take off as well, but before he could question it, Dipper turned to him. He fidgeted. Shuffled his feet a bit. Shoved his hands into his jean pockets.

Bill waited, eyebrows raised.

"Did… you, um, tell anyone?" Dipper asked, glancing everywhere but at him. "About last night?"

Why would he? No one would have given two shits, Bill included. "No."

He looked relieved and sighed, his tensed shoulders deflating into a relaxed posture. "Thanks. That's probably the most…" he trailed off, searching for a word, "semi-decent thing you've done so far."

"I could tell them," Bill offered. Since Dipper seemed to be worried about his suicide attempt getting out, he wanted to milk that for all the information he could get out of him. "I won't if you tell me what you remember about the attack. Every. Little. Detail."

He watched as Dipper shifted his weight uncomfortably again. "And now you're back to being a dick. Not surprised." The distress was gradually creeping onto his features while Dipper's hand combed through his hair, and he asked, "Is this about the attackers again? I already told you I didn't remember. I fainted and woke up to Stan and Ford, that's it."

Ah, but how could he trust him? He _saw_ that look of recognition, and the only possible explanation was that Dipper saw him during the attack. "Did you recognize anyone?"

Bill studied his every move, this kid's body language seemed to have a habit of betraying him, and that remained true when he _hesitated_ before shaking his head. He fucking hesitated. Bill knew there was something shady about Dipper and was determined to drag it out, he had to have seen something.

"Pine Tree," his voice had grown sharp, "don't fucking lie to me."

"I-I'm not!" Dipper protested immediately, but Bill wasn't buying it when he knew he was hiding something without a trace of a doubt. "I was just thinking about… about—" And then he looked at him with _that_ same haunting trace of recognition.

"Tell me who you recognized," he demanded coldly, aiming to intimidate him. His hand hovered near his pocket, "Or I'll call up Stan right now and tell him all about your little suicide attempt last night. I'm sure he'll see to it that everyone knows." If the thought of Stan knowing didn't bother Dipper, the thought of _everyone_ , including his precious sister, knowing might make him squeal.

Appearing startled by the sudden show of force, Dipper gulped and drew in a shaky breath, but he still had that stare, the one which told Bill everything he needed to know: this kid somehow knew him. "I swear I didn't see anyone, okay?" Dipper said, sounding both frightened and frustrated. There was a pause, and he continued, "Look, it's… it's just stupid. I think I've seen you before though."

Bill paused. Interesting.

He could be cool. He decided he'd play on this, see if he could get Dipper to crack. "That's probably from the paper or the television," Bill told him slowly, waiting for him to either agree or correct the statement. Unless he recognized him as an attacker… if so, Cluckin' Bell would have a new meat to add to their menu. "Otherwise, I don't think that's possible."

"I know, that's why I said it was stupid." He returned to shuffling his feet, like he was nervous. Dipper averted his gaze only to settle it on him again, concentrating — Bill didn't know whether to be glad they were perhaps making progress, or annoyed that he couldn't seem to make up his mind.

It was probably best to remind him of who he was dealing with. "I'm kind of a famous criminal here in Los Santos, and the media can't get enough of me, kid. I top most wanted lists." Mostly for murder, so he was surprised no one ever went after him for his parents, but having countless friends in an assortment of high places helped.

But then Dipper was moving closer—

He…

Stunned, Bill's mind short-circuited as he tried to make sense of what just happened.

Of all the reactions he'd been expecting to that, Dipper leaning over and.. and _fucking sniffing him_ —he was pretty sure—wasn't one of them. What. The. Hell.

Ugh, he always knew this kid was a freak. Where did Stan find these people?

Something seemed to click in him. Bill saw the moment, down to the very millisecond where this kid's tiny brain cells apparently put it together, the sheer look of _I know you_ reflected in the depths of his eyes _._

Instinctively, his hand moved to drift over the concealed knife, ready to end this kid right here in the place where he stood. Not ideal, but he sure as hell wasn't going to out him.

And Dipper started snickering quietly, the corners of his lips twitching up and soon it was a full blown smile, leading into stifled giggles, then chuckles, growing louder until the kid was doubled over from laughing so hard. His eyes, tears forming in them, were squeezed tightly shut as his body shook from the force of his hysterics.

In the span of a few moments, it seemed Pine Tree went from semi-normal to laughing lunatic requiring psychological help. Fucking great. Would Stan care if he killed him now?

" _You_ ," he started, trying to get the words out through his laughs, "you went to— to Vinewood University."

A burst of surprise flooded Bill, and the response was immediate, guarded. "No." He _did_ , but he wasn't going to tell this little weirdo anything.

"Dude, stop… stop," Dipper chortled, trying to brush the tears-from-laughter away, " _lying_. I _know_ you did because—"

"I'm not lying, you sniffing freak." No, no, no. He did not recognize him. AT ALL. No one did. That Bill was dead. He died with his sweet dogs.

"—you're _Bill Cipher_ and," he was cut off by more of his own laughter, the smile on his face impossibly wide, "holy shit, you were the fucking _lead in a musical_!"

Fucking. No.

This wasn't happening.

His eye twitched. "You must have me mistaken for someone else," was his icy reply, "because I don't know what you're talking about."

He seemed to be trying to take several breaths of air, refilling his lungs with oxygen that the outburst had drained from him, and soon his giggling had died down. "You _were_ ," he insisted, still grinning wildly. "A-and, I know you were because— okay," he inhaled deeply, as if trying to work up his courage, "this is sort… of embarrassing, but I was still in high school and we—the theater crew—were helping with that production's opening and I _kind of_ ," his voice rose, "had a crush on you and I know I didn't even talk to you but you left a set of your clothes in the dressing room one time and… _Imayhavesniffedthem_." Dipper had gotten all of that out in one breath, a big rambling sentence, and he was red by the time he'd finished.

At least it explained why he'd taken a whiff of him a minute ago.

"Why are you such a fucking _freak_?" Bill didn't want to admit Dipper had correctly identified him. He knew what Dipper was referring to, vividly could recall which production it was, as well; he remembered since he hadn't cared for the wealthy, snobby brats that'd arrived from Richman High School to assist in its opening week. "I can't fucking believe you had the hots for me, kid."

" _Hey_ ," he protested, bashful but simultaneously annoyed, "I was like, a freshman in _high school_! A dumb fourteen-year-old. It was just a stupid crush thing, it's not like we ever talked."

There was probably a reason they never talked if Dipper sniffed his clothes. "Don't you need to shop?" he asked, trying to veer the subject back to what they'd been doing before.

"Yeah," Dipper replied. Bill didn't care for how that ridiculously goofy, knowing smile was still on his face. He wanted to punch it off. Stab him in his throat. Shoot him in his mouth fifty times. Clearly this kid didn't realize what a threat Bill could be. "Guess I'll see you later?"

"Nah, I'll go with you. A twink like you won't survive alone here, and besides, you should be elated. Your _crush_ going with you on a shopping spree." Wasn't like he could retract the knowledge from him since the damage was already done. However, he was going to have fun with this and make the best of a shitty situation. Why did he have to know him from _that_?

"As if," Dipper snapped, the smile disappearing. "I can assure you that crush is long gone."

Dipper could claim that as much as he liked, whatever helped the kid sleep at night, but it wouldn't stop Bill from tormenting him relentlessly. "Sure, if you say so."

"I'm not crushing on you!" he protested, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "You aren't nearly attractive enough to be such a dickwad."

By now, they were outside Cluckin' Bell and heading down the hallway toward a popular clothing store. "Cutie," Bill said, "you're not nearly attractive enough to be a little bitch. Now, are we shopping, or are you going to continue to whine about how you'll never look as fabulous as I do?"

Some memory seemed to flicker in Dipper's eyes. "Is your closet full of nothing but black and yellow suits?"

"Why, you interested in them?" They had stepped into the store, Bill's gaze sweeping over the options. Nothing looked as good as his clothes, it wasn't even a close competition.

Dipper moved to examine various shirts on display, feeling the fabric and checking price tags. "That's all I've seen you wear so far."

Bill didn't understand why he was bothering to ask. "I guess I can't be as unattractive as you tried to claim if you've been admiring my outfits."

" _Outfits_ ," he repeated in amusement. As Dipper turned away from the clothing to face him, he noticed he was biting his lip, probably holding back a laugh. "Just because I like your clothes doesn't mean I like you." He leaned forward, poking him near his collarbone. "Your bowties are nice, though."

His expression morphed into something similar to a scowl. "Don't mess with my bowties unless you want to lose some fingers." Following that, he brightened up. "Come on, cutie. First you like my clothes, then you start eyeing up my dick, then you think 'I'd like it if that hot Bill guy fucked me.'"

He frowned and said, "I already told you I was over that!"

Bill exploded in laughter. "Yeah, until you take a little look at what you're missing out on and want it." He hardly cared if Dipper still had a crush on him or not, he just liked to watch him squirm from the teasing.

"Your ego could be seen from space, dude."

He was tempted to point out that it wasn't egotistical if he was right, but before he could, Dipper spun on his heels and started walking away to another section of shirts, the racks filled with plaid patterned fabrics. Quite similar to what he was wearing now, but in a variety of colors.

"Christ, it's like the only pattern of shirts you know is plaid." Did Dipper _want_ to be a shitty male version of Wendy?

Dipper glanced over his shoulder briefly to snark, "Ironic, coming from a walking advertisement for that Wiz Khalifa song. ' _Black and yellow, black and yellow, black and yellow, black and yellow_.'"

While he _did_ want to beat the snot out of this kid, the mocking mantra was amusing, and he smiled crookedly. "At least this advertisement has class. You look like a lumberjack reject because you weren't manly enough."

That appeared to hit a nerve in how he quickly defended himself with a, "Hey, I'm manly!" Yeah, the voice crack added that extra dose of convincing. It was faint, but he saw a smile on the kid's lips. "Have you seen the Monty Python skit? I'm that kind of lumberjack."

"No wonder they rejected you. That's pretty fucking gay." What, was he going to cross-dress too?

Dipper was lucky he hadn't had to live with his parents, they would've beaten the shit out of him for even suggesting the slightest femininity as they had with Bill — except, it hadn't been feminine in his case. It'd just been an interest in musical productions, but their backlash had been insane.

Dipper ignored him while he thumbed through the different plaid shirt options, and Bill swore he could hear the kid humming the song under his breath as he did so, hips swaying back and forth lightly. Bill's fingers twitched against his slacks, finding it difficult to resist the desire of smacking him in his tiny ass. Oblivious, Dipper pulled a few from the rack and held them up, examining the items and setting them aside before continuing his search.

"What, you lookin' for the holy grail of shirts?" The reference made Dipper smile, but it faded after sparing him a brief, owlish stare, as if surprised it'd come from Bill. Yes, he was a world class assassin, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a sense of humor. Messing with Dipper was the only decent part of this excursion because god damn, they were going to be here all day at this rate. "It's just fucking clothes. Pick some already."

"Oh, but I have to look good for my _crush_ , don't I?" he replied flatly, the sarcasm evident. He seemed irritated that he'd been called out on taking forever, but went back to analyzing every single stupid thread of the clothes. "You didn't have to come with me, y'know."

"It doesn't take two hours to find clothes that look good, kid. You're just being a slug." Whether or not Bill had come with him didn't matter. "I would be forced to wait on your slow-ass forever anyway." Maybe he should have gone with Mabel. At least she was lively. Being with Dipper was like being with a zombie.

Briefly, he was reminded of the ring in his pocket. Earlier, when Dipper had been showering, Mabel and him had hatched a scheme to fake propose to Dipper after Dipper decided Bill had to _court_ him. So his plan was to do it in public, with a crowd gathered around them to put the pressure on Dipper to say yes. What better place than Rockford Plaza? Making a scene wouldn't be difficult. Since the kid had outright _demanded_ to be courted, Bill thought the entire idea was brilliant in a convoluted way, and he wanted to see Pine Tree put on the spot, to _squirm_ from the crowd's pressure to accept an engagement from someone he genuinely loathed with every inch of his being.

Dipper finally settled on blue, green, and gray variations of the plaid pattern, hooking them over one of his noodle arms. "Be honest," he raised an eyebrow, "you would've passed the time hanging out in Hot Topic and scaring kids like the creep you are."

Bill shrugged. "I'm more of a Spencer's guy. You wanna swing by one? They have some hilarious cards." He paused after a moment. "Assuming they don't kick you out for looking like you're twelve." But on the other hand, that'd be entertaining to watch.

"Nah, I'd have an adult with me." Dipper was on the move again, heading to another section of the store while Bill was in tow, dragging his feet — he hoped it was clear that he didn't want to be here. "And I use that term loosely."

If Bill didn't find the kid so intriguing, he would've shot him for that. "Kid, you don't even know what 'loose' is."

He didn't turn to look at him, but he did stop, giving Bill an opportunity to catch up. It didn't take long since his strides were significantly longer than Dipper's, a benefit of being taller. "Wait, are you calling me a virgin?"

"I'm not wrong. You even have the Virgin Walk about ya."

Not looking too happy about that, Dipper elbowed him in the ribs and Bill grunted softly. Why the fuck did he have to be the perfect height for causing him physical pain? The little fucker. Short people could suck his dick.

"I do not walk like a virgin," Dipper muttered, just barely audibly. He took a sharp turn, veering to the men's pants section, and paused near the skinny jeans. "These should fit…" Bill could hear him think aloud as he plucked pairs from their hooks, the chosen ones joining his stack of plaid shirts.

Laughing, Bill joined him by the skinny jeans. "Even Mabel doesn't have the virgin walk like you do, kid."

Appearing surprised by the comment, Dipper's breath hitched and he froze for a second, leading Bill to believe that perhaps he'd uncovered something of a sore spot buried him — he seemed to be on a roll today. And after several long seconds of contemplation, he darkly said, "Well, she's n-not..."

"Then I guess that means you're a virgin!" His voice has rose, amusement lacing each word. It was likely anyone in their vicinity could hear him.

Dipper went red and made a panicked shushing motion with his hands. "M-m..aybe?" his voice had raised an octave. Oh yes, he'd found the virgin and it was nothing short of glorious.

If Dipper was too embarrassed about being a virgin, Bill could fix that. "That's a 'yes', Pine Tree. Y'know, if you didn't want to be a virgin, I can assist you in that." Wanting to see his reaction more than anything, he playfully reached to slap his ass.

Bill was amused by how he instantly squeaked in surprise and his body tensed under the touch. Still, the kid whirled around a second later to huff, "I'd rather shove a cactus up there. It'd probably be more enjoyable."

"That doesn't fix your virgin problem, cutie. Also, you can have fun getting those spines out of your anus. How bloody."

"It's not a _problem_ , and can we stop talking about it?" His eyes shifted around the store, as if concerned the other patrons were listening in on their conversation. Yeah right, like they couldn't tell he was a virgin at a glance without even hearing a snippet of their chat. "What happened to wanting to hurry this along?"

A snicker escaped him. "Sounds like it's a problem, given how badly you want to move on from it." With how insistent Dipper was of taking forever, he had lost interest in trying to usher him along. This was more amusing.

Dipper looked beyond frustrated, sputtering at him, and he internally noted how fun it was watching this kid's face go new shades of red. He was really starting to enjoy that, how easily embarrassed he was, and making him at least useful for _something_ even if that something happened to be his own entertainment.

Oh, if only Dipper knew what was about to befall him. The public proposal, although fake, would be glorious if it went as planned.

In a flash, his thoughts were interrupted by Dipper's hand shooting out toward him followed by a brief pressure below his neck, and the hand retracted only to have his undone bowtie in the open palm.

Forget proposing, he could fucking **murder** this kid.

He had a pistol and a knife on him, and they were both aching to spill Dipper's blood everywhere for that.

Okay, fine. A deep, controlled breath later, Bill was forcing himself to _relax_. If he wanted to play like that, they could play. Not missing a beat, Bill snatched the bowtie from Dipper's hand and quickly proceeded to retie it in the kid's hair, despite his heated protests and attempts to escape. He'd been deliberate in where he placed it, wrapping the bowtie in the fluffy wave of hair that usually hid his birthmark. "Enjoy looking like a pretty princess, you little shit." Bill watched as Dipper's hand fiddled with the fabric, obviously trying to free it from his brown locks. "If you mess with it, I'll shove a knife so deep in your sternum the paramedics won't be able to pull it out even when you're dead."

That was enough to cause Dipper to hesitate, his movements stuttering. He glanced to a mirror stationed a few feet away, his expression falling flat as his arms folded over his chest in annoyance, noticing the bowtie and the birthmark it revealed to the world. "You're a jackass."

Bill was still angry about the bowtie and didn't plan on having Dipper remove it until much later. Assuming he behaved. "You're a piece of shit, now get over yourself and finish playing dress up, lumberjack."


	5. Chapter 5

They'd finished shopping for his clothes and had made their way over to a mobile store. It took only a few minutes to purchase and set up Dipper's new phone, with a brief reminder its primary purpose was to be a burner.

As they had departed, Dipper became distracted by a nearby fish tank and started spouting facts about aquatic life, much to Bill's annoyance because it wasn't as if those stupid ass fish did anything except swim around and be useless, the latter a similarity between them and Dipper. Maybe Dipper did look cute with the way his widened eyes watched the fish in fascinated interest, but it wasn't worth standing around gawking at someone's dinner, so he'd made a point of grabbing Dipper by his collar and pulling him away. They weren't done shopping yet, and besides, dogs were the superior companion.

Their final stop was the shoe store, at last. He couldn't wait to be done with this shopping and back in the penthouse — he had things to do with his day, he couldn't spend the whole time walking around with this little brat since he was slower than a snail when it came to picking out clothes. He didn't know why it took him so long when everything was either plaid or jeans, it should've been easy to snatch up what he wanted.

On the brightside, the bowtie in his hair was a continuous source of amusement, and he knew Dipper hated him a bit more every time he stole a glance at it, or every time he made a teasing comment about the kid still having a crush on him. That was pretty fun.

Currently, Dipper was slipping off one of his shoes to try on a mate from the new pair he'd selected for his seemingly endless trials of different colored Chuck Taylors (Christ, he had no class), and… huh. His feet were about as big as a toddler's. "What are you, a size three?"

Prepared to either dodge or catch his attack, Bill watched him carefully since Dipper had _that look_ , the one which likely preceded being kicked in the face. Maybe kneeling near him while he did this wasn't the best idea. "Eight," he corrected as if the mere thought was absurd, wriggling on the new shoe to see if it fit comfortably.

"Your toes look like they belong to an infant," he commented.

Dipper glanced at him blankly before going back to arranging the shoe. "I'm starting to think you have a weird obsession with babies."

He didn't care one way or the other for tiny humans, and Bill shook his head. "Nah, I just can't help but see a lot of similarities when it comes to you, sweetcheeks."

"Aaand now it's concerning because you've propositioned me for sex." Dipper rose to his feet, pacing a small area to test out the shoe. "Multiple times." As he walked, he was careful to dodge the bags of purchased clothes surrounding them, the same bags that he'd outright demanded Bill carry for him while they shopped, and he wasn't sure how he'd gotten swindled into that but he'd been essentially a clothing rack at the kid's whim.

"Aren't you nineteen, or did you lie about your age because you're insecure about being a virgin?" Bill wasn't interested in him because he had the soft skin and feet size of small children, he was interested in him because he was _interesting_ whereas most of his daily interactions with the other people in his life were downright boring. So predictable, so dull. Dipper was always surprising him. The clothes-sniffing couldn't have been more of a shock, and he internally noted he'd have to add some jokes about that into the teasing as well.

All that aside, he wouldn't touch him if he was underaged. He was glad he wasn't, lest the plan of proposing to him would be ruined like Dipper's dignity frequently was.

There was a furious squawk. "Look, man, if we're ever in that situation, just… I.D. me or something."

"I guess you better pull out your I.D. right now, kid."

"No way. You are _not_ fucking me in a shoe store."

But he was going to be proposed to in a mall, not that he had any idea. Shrugging, he replied, "The bathrooms have private stalls, cutie."

"Gross, no," he made a face as he sat back down, sticking his tongue out at him momentarily, "and I don't _want_ to do anything with you. I didn't even want to shop with you, but you apparently just had to come along."

If Bill could, he would have grabbed his ass to get another squeak out of him. "Would you rather I be alone with your impressionable sister?"

Dipper's eyes flashed with protectiveness. "Stay away from Mabel. I still haven't forgiven you for making her cry earlier."

He'd already forgotten about that, probably because he didn't give two shits. "She'd forgive me pretty easily, considering–" he stopped speaking when a stranger approached them, intent on finding out what she could want.

She was an older woman, with poofy white hair and a hefty amount of weight. She wore a dark purple jacket with a lighter purple shirt beneath, accompanied with dark gray pants. Bill was... _concerned_ about her size: what did she eat, her children? "Oh, my!" She exclaimed. "Aren't you two the cutest things? You remind me of my honey and I when we were younger."

Dipper looked like a deer in the headlights and started to hyperventilate as if entirely appalled by the idea of someone thinking they were a couple. "A-actually, we're… we're not—"

"Of course we are," Bill took the opportunity to throw his arm around Dipper's small frame in mock affection, feeling his muscles stiffen with discomfort but he knew he wasn't hurting him. "My _sugar_ here is a little shy of being openly together, but we're quite happy, aren't we, cutie?"

Through a narrowed gaze, Dipper was shooting daggers at him and his mortified expression was nothing short of legendary, meanwhile Bill was relishing in every second of it. He looked too stunned to speak, so delightfully red in the face once again, and he was left thinking they had to do this more often if these were the reactions he could squeeze from the kid. Although his eyes suggested he was going to try to punch him with those weak little arms later, Dipper's lips pursed and he replied, "Well, I'd be happier if I hadn't caught him pawing around in the women's underwear section earlier."

Smoothly, Bill rolled with it, "Sweetie, that was going to be a gift to you for our anniversary. We both know how much you like to crossdress." To accentuate his point, he used his free hand to affectionately poke the bowtie in his hair.

It was funny. Dipper even knew his history with theater and made the dumb mistake of thinking Bill couldn't work with anything on the spot. Oh, how wrong this Sapling was to mess with the classiest liar around.

Needless to say, the wide smile on the woman's face had vanished, and she was quick to excuse herself and speed-walk away. Crossdressers did that to people, Bill mused to himself. Shame on Dipper.

With her gone, Bill withdrew from Dipper and got to his feet because after that incident, they were both ready to leave the store. Heading back to the food court after purchasing the shoes. Dipper seemed over two hundred percent done and hardly uttered a word to him the entire time as he made a point of avoiding eye contact, probably because Bill played the 'dating' card. What a little baby.

Bill found them a seat back in Cluckin' Bell and had purchased a couple drinks while they waited for Mabel's return. Knowing her, she probably bought the whole mall. "You gonna talk, Pine Tree, or are you going to keep pouting because now some old woman thinks we're dating and you crossdress?"

"You went along with it!" he accused, leaning away from him. "I hope Mabel gets back soon and we can go." The way he said it definitely implied it was to get a break from him, not from shopping.

Bill smirked. "Weren't you the one that brought up the lady's underwear? It's your fault she thinks you're a freak now. She thought it was _adorable_ before."

The trace of irritation on the kid's face wasn't lost to his keen observation, but Dipper shrugged and said, "All I did was make an educated guess about what you were doing while I was trying on clothes."

"If I wanted to look at panties," he snickered slyly, "I'd pull down those jeans of yours."

Dipper was positively seething but made no comment, burying his face in his hands to mumble incoherently about how terrible he was. Or something along those lines probably because Bill couldn't hear him well enough to discern what it was.

It was entertaining how he didn't make any attempt to deny he wore panties. "Cutie, hiding your face won't change the fact you rock women's undies."

He didn't uncover his face but did give a muffled, "I don't!"

"Sure you do. Have more confidence in yourself."

" _No_ , I mean I don't wear them!"

Bill couldn't contain a laugh, no matter how hard he tried. "What else would you wear? You're so girly, I don't think any cashier in their right mind would sell you boxers."

"You seem to be trying really hard to convince yourself that I wear lacy underwear."

Bill hummed in thought, "I bet it's a pink thong."

Finally dropping his hands to the table, Dipper wrinkled his nose. "Stop fantasizing about me."

How could he not? "You make it so easy with that tiny ass of yours. Wonderfully tight, I imagine."

Flushing, he looked away and his gaze settled on something in the distance, seemingly desperate in his attempt not to make any form of eye contact with him. "It's ironic you keep teasing _me_ about having a crush."

"I'm just playin', cutie. Unlike you, I don't sniff clothes or get attached." Emotional attachment wasn't one of Bill's strong suits, and he was fine with that — his line of work didn't promote a particularly loving attitude.

"I was _fourteen_ ," Dipper stressed, the familiar protest making a return. Yes, yes, he knew he used to be (and still was) a creepy little bastard, didn't need to tell him twice, but they had more important things to do.

"Hey sugar, I got a question for ya."

"What? What could you _possibly_ want?"

Go time. He couldn't wait to mortify Dipper.

Bill pushed himself away from the table, dropping to one knee as he whipped out a tiny black box and opened it, revealing a golden ring studded with blood-red rubies and, likely unknown to Dipper, the gem was one of the planetary stones for Scorpios. A personal favorite of his. While it wasn't a engagement ring by any means considering he had it customized for himself years ago, Dipper still looked horrified by what was unfolding before him, completely frozen and uncertain of what he should do. Perfect.

That alone met his expectations for the reaction he'd been aiming to receive, but he wanted to push this further, see just how far it could go.

"My dear," he said with a completely sincere expression, a mass of people beginning to notice the interaction and gather around. "I know things between us haven't always been stellar, but I want you to know my love for you is like an eternal flame that cannot be snuffed out by the struggles we have faced. I love you, and I wish to be by your side until the end of our days. Will you give yourself the honor of marrying me?" He guessed his speech had garnered some attention since the crowd awwed, and Bill distantly thought he could hear the sound of screeching. Was a cat being tortured?

With a hint of pride, he decided this was probably his most brilliant performance yet judging by the lack of color on Dipper's face as he stood there, dumbly stunned. He looked perplexed beyond belief, as if still trying to stitch together what was even going on.

He'd said he wanted to be courted. What was more fitting than being courted via a fake proposal in a food court?

As quickly as he'd paled, his cheeks were adopting a bright red hue and he was blinking like he couldn't believe it was real. And quite frankly, it wasn't real, but this was still the most fun he'd had in a while. Dipper's startled reactions were to die for and the crowd was lapping it up, encouraging him to accept.

From horror to embarrassment to panic, he seemed to settle on a primary emotion: fury. Bill caught the way Dipper very obviously mouthed 'FUCK YOU' to him, and he found himself struggling to keep a straight face. Stars, it was great to discover fresh methods of pissing the kid off.

The screeching was getting closer, and at a glance he could see Mabel making an excited beeline for Dipper. She had dropped her bags of merchandise in the process, throwing her arms around her brother and nearly knocking him over in the process as she squealed. "OMYGOSH YOU'RE GETTING ENGAGED?! DIPPER, YOU HAVE TO SAY YES! IT'S SO CUTE!"

Christ, she gave him a headache sometimes. "Oh sugar, you're so choked up you can't even speak!" He blew a kiss toward him, much to the crowd's delight. Dipper's face twisted in anger. "So will you?" he prompted Dipper again with a predatory smirk plastered on his face, curious to see if he would reject him between the pressure of the crowd and Mabel both desiring him to say yes.

He looked like he was fighting an internal battle as his eyes shifted around the food court, undoubtedly seeing the attention they'd drawn to them. Stan would be mad that he caused a scene in a public place for no monetary reward, but oh well, this was worth it. Dipper shifted uncomfortably, every second seemingly making this worse for him while the crowd's encouragements became louder. "Fine," he mumbled so damn defeatedly, gaze dropping. "Yes."

Bill's eyebrows shot up.

He actually agreed? The kid had less balls than he thought. Bill was expecting more resistance from Dipper. "You've just made me the happiest man in the world!" he exclaimed for the crowd's entertainment, slipping the ring onto Dipper's finger and snaking his arm around Dipper's waist as he stood to press a kiss to his lips. At least it would've been if not for Dipper turning his head at the last moment to avoid him, forcing him to plant a smooch on his cheek instead as Dipper visibly grimaced.

After collecting their stuff and the crowd dispersed, they headed back to Bill's vehicle and dumped the bags of clothes and other accessories into the trunk. Dipper was still pouting but that was no surprise, Mabel was more excited than he'd ever seen over her brother's fake engagement, and Bill was finding enjoyment in how Dipper REFUSED to even look at him. He gave the silent treatment a whole new level of dedication.

"I thought you'd be happy," Bill teased him. "Being engaged to your _crush_."

Dipper's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Yeah, your performance back there was even better than how you did in—"

He sensed where this was going and immediately cut him off, "The one with that lady? Yeah, she really bought us dating and you crossdressing."

No.

He wasn't going there. He was not going to fucking out him for being in a musical _years_ ago, but honestly, Bill should've stuck with acting. He liked to think he would've made it big.

"You crossdress still?" Mabel asked. "I thought that went away after mom caught you in my clothes!"

Bill snorted. Oh, he should have known, should've seen this coming.

As if he wasn't sure he'd heard, Dipper stole a quick glance at him only to be met with the telltale smirk, and he sighed. "I don't crossdress. Bill just put his bowtie in my hair because he's a sadistic asshole."

Mabel giggled. "He's yours now! You should be ecstatic! It's not like you ever got numbers or dates with anyone before this, but your luck is turning around finally!"

Dipper facepalmed and looked like he wanted to disappear into thin air, not that Bill could blame him. "Mabel, please, _please_ stop talking."

She didn't, instead continuing to ramble. "Oh! Today I met the prettiest girl, her name's Pacifica and I got her number–something you couldn't do, Dipper, even though you're bisexual and should have twice the dating options–and I'm going to call her on my new phone when I get home!"

The inadvertent roasting of Dipper's love life had him holding back snickers. Great Cosmos, the kid was hopeless, but he did have one thing going for him and it was the sole reason he wasn't lying in his own blood with a knife in his chest: he was entertaining.

"Hey cutie, it's okay." Bill spoke as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. "You don't need to get numbers anymore, you're engaged now. Brighten up."

"Pretty sure I'll be needing numbers for a divorce lawyer."

* * *

The drive to the penthouse was going smoothly… until his phone started going off. Repeatedly. And he wanted to groan his vocal cords off whenever he saw Robbie's name flashing on the screen, which alone justified ending the call as soon as it came in every time, but it was starting to get annoying since he wasn't taking the hint and giving up.

Throwing his damn phone out the window was becoming a tempting option, considering how much of a bitch it was to end the call over and over while he was _trying to drive_ and weave through the Los Santos evening traffic. Whenever he reached to kill it, making a point of whacking away Dipper's hand when he tried to help, the car would swerve dangerously close to oncoming vehicles.

"Just let me do it!" Dipper would protest. "Do you want me to send a text or something? This might be important and you shouldn't be messing with it while you're driving." They weren't even fake married yet and he was already starting to sound like a nagging wife.

"Do you want me to pull over and ask for directions too?" Bill mocked. "Don't touch my phone, Pine Tree." Dipper didn't need to see his conversation with Robbie. Or know about Robbie. Or fuck with his phone.

On the tenth attempt, he was beginning to cave solely to make it stop because he couldn't handle it anymore. Somebody better be dying, or Robbie would be in for a world of hurt with how much of a pest he'd been tonight. To Dipper, he said, "Just keep looking pretty in that bow, sugar. I gotta take this."

Ignoring the irritated honking of the drivers around him, he veered the car off the road, slamming on the brakes as it slowed to a stop on the shoulder. "Stay in here," he instructed them as he turned up the radio and exited the vehicle with his phone.

Taking a seat on the hood, Bill accepted the call, putting it to his ear with an angry: "What the fuck do you want?"

"What's the deal? Like, you've been ignoring my calls." He'd forgotten how god damn whiny Robbie could be sometimes.

"You're starting to sound like a fucking attention whore. Doll, I know you still have feelings for me, but spamming my phone while I'm trying to drive isn't exactly how to win me back." If this was all he wanted to talk about, Bill was ready to hang up, chuck his phone in a ditch, and enjoy the pop music with the twinsies instead.

There was a scoff on the other side of the line. "Cut it out, I act nothing like that." Classic Robbie, jumping right into the huffy emotional pouting. If Bill had known sleeping with the guy would turn him into such a needy freak, he would've passed. "This is about Lee. We gotta talk."

Lee was dead. There was nothing to talk about with that. "I got better things to do than talk about a dead kid, Stitched Heart."

"Dude, this is serious business! Meet me at Singleton's."

"Nah, I have important things to do." He didn't want to waste his time with the edgelord when he had to go back to the penthouse.

"Yeah? Like what?" Robbie prompted.

A pause. Why the hell did he give two shits? Bill stole a glance over his shoulder at his passengers, Mabel looking completely distracted and Dipper staring at him impatiently. His eyes flicked back to Mabel. "I got a girl back in my car. She's a better lay than you ever were." Hang up, Robbie. Do it. He wanted out of their stupid meeting and was willing to say anything to make that happen.

"Not cool," he could basically hear him bristling on the other side of the line. "Bring her with then, I don't give a shit."

"I'd rather not." His gaze moved to Dipper. "Did I say 'girl?' She's actually a crossdressing boy." Maybe that would be enough to get him to back off.

He heard a semi-puzzled "what the hell?" but Robbie moved on quickly, stating, "Whatever. You probably aren't getting any and just made that other stuff up, so get over here."

He wasn't getting any? "What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals—"

"Are you seriously reciting that stupid meme again?"

"When was the last time you got any, Valentino?" Bill challenged. "When you were begging for my cock like the little whore you are?"

"Fuck you, I-I've been busy!" was the defensive response, and although Robbie couldn't see it, Bill was rolling his eyes. Busy his triangles! "Get over here, man. Singleton's."

Bill was ready to kick his sorry excuse for an ass. "I'll go, cockwipe, but it better be worth my time."

"Yeah, yeah, see you in a bit, asshole." The line went silent.

Now all he needed was to get Dipper to play dressup. "Hey Shooting Star," Bill said as he got back in the car, turning down the volume. "I don't suppose you bought a dress today?" Despite speaking to Mabel, his eyes were on Dipper who was returning his gaze, suspiciously.

"I did!" Mabel's response was excited, as always. "What do you need it for?"

"Well, I'm in need of a crossdressing man, and I thought Pine Tree would fit the bill nicely."

Startled, Dipper shook his head. "What the hell? No! I'm not doing that."

Yes he was. Didn't have a choice. Robbie was expecting a crossdresser, he was getting one. "You already look so pretty in that bow, Pine Tree. Where's the harm in a dress?"

"I didn't _want_ to be in the bow," he hotly reminded him. "You put it on me and said you'd kill me if I took it off. I'm not wearing a dress for you."

Mabel was trying to mess with the folding rear seat in an attempt to get to the trunk. "You'd look so beautiful in a dress, Dipper! ...Or should I say, _Dipperella_!" Dipperella? He kinda liked that, but it was painfully clear Dipper did not. Maybe Dipper wasn't ready to admit his status as a Disney princess.

"Cutie, you're making me want to stab you in your pretty little sternum for not wearing a dress."

"Nope, I'm not doing it." His arms folded stubbornly. "You haven't even explained why. Please tell me you're not looking for spank bank material."

He wasn't Robbie. "No, I have a meeting and they're expecting me to bring a crossdressing date. Enter: you."

" _Why_ would they expect that? Do you normally bring a crossdressing date to your meetings or something?"

"It may have come up on the call. What do ya say, cutie? We're already engaged."

Dipper's shoulders tensed, and his face scrunched in anger. "Did you say we were dating?! To some… some stranger?"

If it helped, he didn't _want_ to; he'd intended on getting out of the meeting by making that up, not bringing Dipper to it. "Not a stranger to me, sugar." He ignored Dipper's whine of 'not helping.' "Also, my hand was forced. Apparently it's _important_ I go and it can't wait."

Dipper seemed like he wanted to suggest taking Mabel instead as he watched her dig through the shopping bags she'd retrieved from the trunk, but bit his tongue and turned his attention to Bill. "Sounds like you backed yourself into a corner. Smooth." Dipper exhaled and flopped against the passenger seat, looking thoughtful, "You've been a jerk to me the whole day. So I'm sure you can get why I'm not really feeling the whole crossdressing date thing."

"Would you rather me take your sister?" Bill's voice had grown cold. The displeasure written across Dipper's face became darker.

Mabel grinned. "I think Dipper might fit the mark better. Also, he'd be great in a dress as um… a crosser." She seemed confused by the term 'crossdresser,' but Bill wasn't going to be the one to correct her.

"Good point, Shooting Star. So, what do ya say Pine Tree? I could take your sister and potentially risk her life, or you could go instead."

It was so easy to manipulate him if he threatened Mabel's safety. "Okay," he said tensely, voice rigid. Dipper had a hollow expression, one that spoke volumes to his defeat and frustration. "Can it at least be a skirt?"

Success. He knew he'd break the kid into submission. "Sure, cutie."

Soon, they were outside the bar, and the Singleton's neon sign flickered annoyingly in the corner of his vision as he stared at the now-in-a-skirt and looking quite embarrassed Dipper, who could hardly meet his eyes. Mabel had been busy snapping pictures of him with her new phone on the drive over as she talked proudly about using it for blackmail, and to be frank, it was hard to fight the urge to do the same.

"Stay here," Bill told Mabel as he moved to exit his vehicle. "Keep your head down and don't bring attention to yourself. Dipper, before we go in we need to talk." Alone, since Mabel didn't need to hear. It was bad enough that he'd have to include Dipper in this stupid meeting, which he didn't want to be at in the first place.

Dipper took that cue as his turn to leave the vehicle as well, and Bill saw him trailing after as they neared the doors of the nightclub, the noise from inside barely audible in the evening air.

Beckoning him over, Bill stepped away from the path to the entrance to give them a little more privacy. "Look, there's a few things we gotta go over. One: anything we discuss in the meeting, you don't talk about ever again. It never happened. You got that, Pine Tree?" He watched Dipper nod hesitantly, and continued. "The second thing is this discussion will be about Lee, so don't break down in tears when Stitches is talking about how dead he is. He's another member of the Owls but he's more of like… the F team of us." A lie considering Robbie couldn't have been further from a member of the Owls of Anarchy — Dipper didn't need to know Robbie was a leader of the Ravagers. "You probably will never see him again." Hopefully.

"Lastly, stop being so tense around me. It screams 'shitty actor.'" Dipper had the tiniest of smirks planted on his dumb little face, probably fantasizing about sniffing his clothes again. If he was still giggling over Bill's time as an actor, his humor must be real shitty. It was like he was bringing a two year old to the meeting with Robbie. ... Maybe, just maybe, Dipper being a witness to his past was a sore spot for Bill. "Relax, pretend to be having a good time, and you can go back to hating me when we're done."

He shifted his weight nervously, tugging on the ends of the skirt as if that would help cover more of his twig legs. It wasn't particularly short and went past his knees, so he didn't know what he was fussing about. "That last one is asking quite a bit."

It wasn't if Dipper valued his life. "Can you handle it, Pine Tree, or are you gonna crumble under pressure like a piece of paper?"

"Dispensing threats at me doesn't help me relax around you," Dipper grumbled. "You could pretend to be decent for once, and you can go back to being an asshole when we're done." He was almost certain Dipper was mocking him with that, but gave it a pass since they didn't have time for squabbling.

"Sugar, I'm not _threatening_ you. I'm trying to keep you from being eaten alive in there. If you're half-assing this, they'll rip you to shreds and I'll have to tell Mabel she lost the only family member she had left to a woodchipper."

"Fine," Dipper sighed, "but you'll have to make this believable too, y'know."

Bill chuckled softly. "Sweetie, I have that handled. Now, on a final note take this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold-colored handkerchief. "If you get too uncomfortable and need to leave, slip this back to me and I'll get us out. I don't want you saying anything to bring attention to yourself, you got that, Pine Tree?"

The kid took his handkerchief in silence, giving him only another short nod in response. Good. He was learning to keep his mouth shut. With that finished, Bill moved to the entrance of the building and stepped inside.

Immediately, they were met by the blare of music and a huge, darkened room. Of what little illumination there was, it came from the multi-colored stage lights that danced around the room, casting them in various shades of blue, red, yellow, and purple, shifting every other second with the beat of the music. Most of the building was crowded, filled with people dancing… or attempting to, as they stumbled around in a drunken stupor. Bill made a face at the human wreckage and was glad Robbie frequented the place enough to secure a private room, which he quickly proceeded to. Said room consisted of a small booth, secluded and quiet since it was away from the excitement of the nightclub and bar, and Bill ducked inside with Dipper in tow. In the low light he could see that Robbie was slouched over the table, fingers rapidly typing on his phone. "Ah, it's like Tambry never left."

"Took you long enough," Robbie grumped, his perpetually-bored face supported by the arm resting on the table as he stared at the two. "Did you get in a quickie, or what was keeping you?" He asked, eyes scanning over Bill and then his supposed date. "Christ, where do you find these?"

"The strip is surprisingly fruitful." Bill was glad Robbie was too stupid to recognize Dipper in his minimal disguise. Even if someone told him who Pine Tree was, Bill was sure it wouldn't click in his pea-sized brain for an hour. For fuck's sake, he didn't do his research to find out if the mayor and senator had children before they attacked, and Robbie only found out hours afterward. He wasn't sure how he managed to stay in charge of a gang.

Robbie's eyes shifted briefly to the decorated dancing pole stationed in the room. "Um, does… he— she, whatever, do private shows?"

"She'll do whatever _you_ want for a price." A smirk was plastered over Bill's face. He couldn't help it.

Dipper looked panicked at that, and he gave series of gentle nudges to his side… huh. That was probably the least violent elbowing he'd ever gotten, what a shocker from this little demon child.

"So, uh… yeah, how much? While we talk business, least we can have a show."

"Nothing you could afford, doll. She's premium off the clock and the sad excuses of what you pull in for a living won't cover it." He sat down across from him, motioning for Dipper to join him in the booth.

"Psh, whatever, man. I could afford that whore of yours." His tone became defensive, and he glanced away. "I just don't _want_ to, alright? Lay off."

"You were singing a different tune when you thought she was a cheap lay."

Robbie didn't seem pleased. "Looks like one."

"You must be looking in a mirror, doll. My Ma—" fuck, couldn't exactly use Mason, "..Macy has the finest ass in the state of San Andreas."

A discontented noise fell from Robbie. "Let's get to it, I don't have all night." Bill wasn't so sure about that, he seemed to be more than ready to shoot the shit over his fake date. "Lee's dead, cops are after us and want to start an investigation. What are you going to do about that, Cipher?"

"Watch you flounder around like a dying clown fish." What else was he going to do? It wasn't like he cared too much if the Ravagers were taken out by some cops because they were too stupid to weasel their own way out of their mess.

Robbie muttered, "About the police, idiot."

"The simple solution is 'kill them', Stitches."

"Thought you said you had connections that could take care of it," he growled. "Dead cops just draw in more attention."

Where was in fun in that? Robbie's inclination to play it safe was as drab as he looked. "I do," Bill said. "But that doesn't mean we can't slaughter some pigs before." Dipper visibly tensed beside him, and he could see the kid struggling to keep his cool.

Luckily, Robbie didn't seem to notice and tapped impatiently at the table. "Do it on your own time, I don't care. Just don't bring that shitstorm around here."

Oh, but bringing it to them would be so _easy_. The cops would love to jump at the opportunity of going after the Ravagers for any little thing. He didn't care how it affected the others– it wouldn't touch him, he'd make sure of that. "What else did you want, Stacey?"

Bill relished in the way his expression fell angrily, but it wasn't like he could make a scene over it. On top of that, it _was_ a part of his name, and there was no denying it. "You still have that picture, right?" there was a hint of implication in his voice. "See if you can plant it on somebody else, get their attention away."

As Robbie spoke, Bill wrapped his arm around Dipper and pulled him close, using his available hand to delicately lift his fake date's, not-so-subtly showing off the ruby studded gold ring to Robbie. There was a knowing grin on Bill's face, carefully watching Robbie's reaction, as he planted a kiss on the back of his hand. Dipper seemed to be trying to tune out of what was happening. He was sure it would bother Robbie and if he could piss him off, maybe they could leave sooner. "Sure, Stace. Anything else?"

By now, Robbie was scowling, an undeniable indicator that he was not a fan of what was unfolding before his eyes. Bill fought back a sense of accomplishment at the reaction of pure disapproval. "You gave your ring to some stripper? How drunk were you, dude?" he remarked bitterly, glaring.

"I gave my ring to my _fiancée_ ," he corrected smugly, feeling Dipper shift uncomfortably as a ragged, startled puff of air escaped him. He swore he could hear a small whine of his name. Cute.

"No fucking way," he harshly responded and looked away. "That's bullshit, Cipher." His gaze settled on Dipper, and although he was outwardly cool, Bill knew a fury blazed within him.

Of course, Robbie had to play the role of the jealous one-night-stand. "Hardly, but I guess you wouldn't know considering you weren't even allowed to touch my ring."

Robbie's attention never left Dipper. "I can't imagine she'd be good in bed. Look at her," he insulted while his hand motioned dismissively toward Dipper, who actually appeared offended by that despite his attempts to stay neutral to the conversation. Under his breath, he muttered, "Cheap whore."

"She's a hell of a lot better than you'll ever be, Stitched Heart. You whined too much."

"Whatever," he was averting his gaze again, taking on a defensive stance. "It's your life." There was a pause before he continued, "What do you think of this new kid? Gabe Bensen — you know the guy? Been thinking of taking him on."

Gross. The last thing they needed was the gay edgelord crew. "Don't you mean Gay Bensen? You're going to make us all look like fags."

"Not like you're any better. You're engaged to a dude."

Nope. Nope. Nope. Dipperella wasn't a dude. Bill wasn't gay. Or engaged to _that_. He wasn't allowed to be gay. "She's a gorgeous woman, you cocksucker."

"Doesn't change the fact that she has a dick."

"A knife will fix that." Bill felt that incessant little prodding again, muted noises of distress that seemed to be only meant for his ears tumbling from Dipper.

"Yeah, we'll see how that works out." Robbie looked irritated. "So… that's a no on Bensen?"

They didn't need Bensen to begin with, wasn't like they struggled after Tambry and Nate met their unfortunate demises forever ago. Lee wasn't really a loss either since he'd been next to useless after Nate's death. Soaking up the bullets for them had been nice. "If you brought him on, he'll just play with his stupid puppets. Did a freelance job with the kid once, and he sewed tiny guns for his lame ass puppets to pretend to hold."

"Fine, just… just keep looking for people then." Robbie didn't look ecstatic that his choice didn't work out, but did he truly think Bensen could be an asset to them? That screamed desperation. "Any updates from the Owls? Pentagram saw the report today, he was throwing a freaking temper tantrum over it but thinks the kids ran. So, do you know if they have them?"

Bill could feel the interest (and worry) radiating off of Dipper by this new discussion and amended his lie from earlier, "I know you're not kept in the loop too well, but yes. Stan has the kids holed up in the penthouse. He refuses to let them see the daylight like vampires until the pigs calm down. We can work something out later." Unbeknownst to Dipper, Bill was working with both crews, and he intended on keeping Dipper out of it since the last thing he needed was the kid blabbing to Stan about how he was spying on them.

There was a dangerous glimmer in Robbie's gaze, and Bill wondered if he could abuse that — how much this business with the kids was worth to him, monetarily. "Keep us updated."

"Sure, pal."

Robbie flopped back in the booth. "You can leave. As usual, thanks for nothing, Cipher, and your fiancée is ugly." Sheesh. He really knew how to hold onto jealousy for an ungodly amount of time.

"Thanks for wasting my time, Edgelord. Your shitty attitude isn't winning anyone back!" Bill stood to usher Dipper out of the booth, and left the private room, hurrying out of the vicinity as he clapped his hands together once they were outside. "That went well."

"It did?" It wasn't a question, it was a skeptical statement. Dipper kicked at the pavement idly and asked, "Why was he… acting like that?" It was as if the kid didn't even have the vocabulary to describe the mess of childish resentment that was Robbie Valentino.

Lowly, Bill chuckled. "He's pissy because we had a one night stand oh, a year ago? He's still obsessed with me and I'm pretty sure he's been binge-watching the Overly Attached Girlfriend videos and taking notes." As he spoke, Dipper dug into the pocket of the skirt, producing the gold handkerchief and handing it back. Bill was glad they hadn't had to resort to using it.

"I know he has an acne and attitude problem, but he could do better than you."

No one could be better than him. "Doll, he wishes he could do better." Seriously. No one was.

Seemingly too distracted to hear his reply, Dipper was tugging at the ends of the skirt again, frustrated. "I'm looking forward to taking this off."

"I'd like that. Strip for me, cutie."

Dipper's cheeks tinted pink, and he rubbed at his arms shyly. "I know you get really into your acting or whatever, but I'm not actually Macy the Crossdressing Stripper, remember?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "I didn't say that because you're dressed up as one, cherry." In honor of his rosy cheeks, which he personally found adorable.

Or that glaringly obvious virginity of his, either would work.

"You'd make a good one, though," he added in a mutter as he glanced at Dipper's ass.

Dipper noticed the not-quite-subtle staring and rolled his eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he snapped, flipping him off as he scooted toward the car with a renewed sense of urgency.

"What?" Bill trailed after him, trying to hold back his laughter. "Be _flattered_ , Pine Tree! I'm your crush, aren't I?"

That elicited a scowl as he got into the passenger side of the car. "Yeah, about as much as you are my fiancé."

"You're still wearing the engagement ring, sweetpea." Bill smirked at him as he joined him in the car, turning the switch to start the engine.

Mabel popped up from the backseat, a wide grin on her face. "How'd it go? Did you get married yet?" She gasped, the questions coming out in quick succession. "Are you going to have children?"

"Yes. Spread 'em, Pine Tree."

Horrified and ridiculously red, Dipper stared at him for a moment in stunned silence before scrambling to get the ring off of his finger.

Bill fell into a fit of laughter as he threw the car in reverse and backed them out of the parking lot. The angry horn behind them signified he almost hit someone, but Bill didn't give a fuck. He could afford to pay any damages. "I'll take that as a 'yes Bill! I'd love to!'"

"No. You are still literally the worst." Dipper had gotten the ring off and was clutching it, looking stiff as a board.

Bill remembered the conversation from earlier and grinned. "Oh, but I'm still the best in the sack, cutie. You know you want a ride."


	6. Chapter 6

The very first thing he'd done upon returning to the penthouse was change out of the skirt and replace it with a pair of his own jeans. Dipper hadn't cared for that experience, any of it. That guy in the nightclub had been teetering somewhere on the edge of emotionally unstable, and the conversation was all so vague, dangerous implications had hung heavy in the air; he was curious, but Bill had made it clear he wasn't to talk about it.

Between the creepy dude (Stitches?) and the crossdressing, he'd been uncomfortable the entire time despite Bill encouraging him to relax — how was he supposed to do _that_? He wasn't a particularly great actor.

Unlike Bill, the thought sparking faint amusement. It was still entertaining to Dipper, though he could go without the teasing that sprang from his confession since he was well over the crush and had been for five years. It felt impossible to him that this Bill—the criminal dealing in shady business and murders, probably—was the same one he'd watched in _The Pajama Game_ all that time ago. That alone made him significantly less intimidating, and it was a refreshing change of pace to no longer be on the edge of fear around Bill.

With the calmness of night washing over the penthouse, Dipper was collapsed on the sectional sofa while the television streamed _BoJack Horseman_ through Netflix in the background. Mabel had been breaking in her new phone via a call with Pacifica, and he could hear her excited chatter through the wall from time to time. He was happy for her, though it was simultaneously troubling since he worried she was bottling her sadness and grief, moving on with her daily life too quickly to be healthy.

Dipper couldn't imagine returning to life like it was even semi-normal, pursuing romantic interests and generally being… well, okay again. Being in the penthouse was like a purgatory, keeping him suspended between having to face the world after such a devastating loss. He just… he didn't know how she could be so upbeat, so positive, and although he wished he had the ability to recover with the same grace, he simply wasn't and had been reduced to barely functioning. The sole reason he'd made it through the day was being away from it all, no television report in the background, no nightmares, and for the most part, Bill had kept his mind occupied.

Everything was overwhelming. He was relieved to have some peace and quiet tonight after the trainwreck of the day — sitting on a sofa, being able to gaze blankly at the ceiling with mindless noise filling the room was good enough for him.

From behind, he could hear the pad of footsteps crossing the room and the balcony door open and shut, a familiar noise with Bill going outside for a smoke break every once and awhile. He'd been doing it a lot, and Dipper figured it was correlated to stress considering Stan and Ford's outing remained ongoing even though it was well into the evening, after midnight. As far as he knew, nobody had heard from the brothers and anxiety was beginning to creep into him.

Apparently, the same could be said about Bill since he was smoking up a storm. Glancing over the back of the sofa, Dipper watched as his towering silhouette leaned on the railing, smoke trailing over his figure and joining the polluted sky. Watching Bill reminded him that he still had a ring to give back, and he dug into his pocket to produce it, setting the band on the glass coffee table with the lightest of _clinks_. He'd been so distracted by changing clothes earlier that it'd slipped his mind but at least having it back in Bill's possession would end the strange… skit they had been trapped in before. He didn't quite grasp what'd been going on with that aside from the obvious Bill being a jackass and taking the demand to court him seriously, but Mabel's contributions hadn't helped matters. Perhaps he could try talking to her later, finish their prior conversation...

A growl from his stomach interrupted his thoughts, and it dawned on him that he hadn't really eaten today, hadn't even felt hungry enough to consider it since the grief had masked his need for food. Well, until now anyway, and he was regretting waiting so long.

Rising from the sofa, Dipper walked to the kitchen and began searching through cabinets for a suitable meal, not that he was especially picky anymore. As he searched their pantry, he was quickly realizing most of what they had wasn't ingredients for food but instead just a variety of snacks… and a shocking amount of cereal and potato chips. How did they stay alive on this stuff? It couldn't be healthy.

He wondered if there were other items available in the cabinets above the oven and stretched to reach the handles, but was thwarted by his slightly-under-average stature.

Dipper could hear the distant sound of the balcony door once more, followed by the approach of footsteps. "What's up, Pine Tree?" His usual scent of spicy honey was covered by the stench of smoke, and Dipper wrinkled his nose. "You look like you could use some help. And when I say 'help', I mean height."

Of course Bill would show up and take this opportunity to sling a jab at his height. Turning around to face him properly, Dipper wondered what he was doing here, why he didn't go back to watching _BoJack Horseman_ since he was the one who'd insisted on having it on. "Why don't you guys have any food?" Dipper asked, choosing to ignore the insult in favor of satiating his hunger.

"We have food," Bill told him. "Maybe you're too short to see it." And there was another cheap shot. Dipper's expression flattened with annoyance as Bill beckoned toward the cupboards he had been sorting through. "Bon appétit, mon petit chéri!"

"Real food," Dipper clarified, raising an eyebrow at the French endearment but not commenting. "All I've seen are Pop-Tarts, cookies, chips, cereal, soda, and booze." There were other miscellaneous items, but that covered the gist of his problem.

He shrugged at him, moving to open the fridge to get a can of soda. "That's all we have, cutie. Stan doesn't like to cook meals, he just gets junk food. You should get used to it."

That answered the question of why there was nothing but ready-to-eat foodstuff, and it left him with very few options, so he begrudgingly grabbed a packet of Pop-Tarts since it'd been closest to him and didn't require challenging his height-determined restrictions in front of Bill.

The crack of the soda opening filled the air, followed by the fizz of the Pitt Cola. "Hey cutie," Bill spoke to him. "You want one, or is it too out of your reach?"

Dipper huffed, visibly exasperated at this point. He knew he wasn't actually _short_ — maybe shorter than average, but hardly short. Bill was just tall, and it was irritating that he threw it in his face at every single opportunity because after a long and trying day, he was getting sick of it. He'd reached his limit with the harassment, the comments, the teasing.

Bill didn't take into account what _was_ in his reach, and Dipper's hand rose to give a quick albeit hard smack to Bill's can of soda, the liquid spilling over the front of his stupid yellow and black suit. Served him right.

He could see the moment of realization, and the twist of anger on his face that faded into one of sinister determination.

Dipper decided that was his cue to get going.

Turning on his heels, he sprinted out of the kitchen, dropping his unopened Pop-Tart onto the kitchen floor in the process. He could hear the thunder of Bill behind him as he raced through the main living space, skirting past the baby grand and vaulting over the sectional sofa only to feel a large weight crash on top of him, forcing them to land roughly on the cushions but the impact sending them both flopping to the carpeted floor, just barely dodging the coffee table. They landed in an intertwined mess of limbs, Bill pinning him roughly.

A firm hand against his chest kept his upper body planted to the ground despite his squirming, and he barely had time to react when the cold remainder of the soda in the can was poured over his face. Dipper squeezed his eyes shut and coughed, flailing and kicking and thrashing wildly at the man holding him down, all the while trying to escape his grip.

The soda ran down his face, and he cringed at the sensation; he was going to need a shower in the near future.

"You shouldn't have done that, Pine Tree!" Bill's voice rang out, cheery with amusement. "Now you've gotten soda all over Stan's white couch!"

What?

His eyes fluttered open to look beyond Bill and to his horror, he saw the pink soda stains on the white couch. Oh. Oh no.

Concluding it must've happened during the initial impact, he didn't think the stains were terrible but nonetheless it was _stained_ furniture and this wasn't even his house… So much for being a decently mannered guest.

"Don't look so glum, kid! The only one Stan's going to be mad at is you!"

"But _you_ did that," Dipper protested, resuming his attempts to dislodge Bill from his place on top of him. To his relief, Bill loosened his grip and allowed him to slip away, but upon sitting up, the rest of the soda that wasn't already on the carpet and in his hair was dripping onto his shirt. Great.

He and Bill were quite the sight, both covered in the sticky substance. And the sofa… well, he frowned as he examined it, walking over to assess the damage. "Do you have anything to clean this with? And the carpet?" It didn't matter to Dipper who was technically at fault, he just felt guilty and wanted to fix it.

Bill's shrug wasn't helpful at all. "Check the closet? Might have a… water vacuum thing."

Dipper raised an eyebrow but was already headed to the closet to look. "You mean 'a carpet shampooer?'"

"No." A pause. "Maybe. Oh, look at _you_ and _your_ fancy words!" He seemed irritated by Dipper's correction, and was beginning to move to leave for the bathroom.

"Jeez, who spilled your soda?" Dipper asked sarcastically. Upon noticing where he was headed, he added, "Wait! You're not going to help clean this up?" Most of it had been Bill's direct doing, putting aside who'd started it.

"You don't need help, cutie! You can figure it out yourself. You figured out that word, didn't ya?" The door of the bathroom slammed shut behind Bill, and Dipper took that as a definitely not for the help.

About an hour later, the carpet and sofa were both free of stains — he'd cleaned before the stains set while Bill, that _asshat_ , had finished his own shower and even had spare time to _watch_ him clean without bothering to lift a finger, though he did move his feet out of the way for the carpet shampooer at one point without looking up. After he was done, Dipper had showered (at last, an opportunity to remove that silly bowtie from his hair) and thrown his clothes in the laundry before redressing himself in pajamas, then plopped down on the other side of the sectional sofa.

It was remarkable to him how, even after all the ruckus they made, Mabel was still holed up in their room chatting with Pacifica on the phone. And similarly, Bill was back to watching _BoJack Horseman_ like nothing had ever happened.

His eyes landed on the ring, still perched on the coffee table, and he bit down a sigh as he was once again reminded to return it to its rightful owner. "Hey, jackass," Dipper started, scooping it up to chuck it at Bill with abandon, "thought you might want this."

It flew right into the hand of Bill, who promptly tossed it back at him. "Keep it, Pine Tree. Looks better on you anyway."

"That was probably the worst proposal I've ever heard." It paled in comparison to the other one. Dipper picked up the ring from where it landed on his stomach to examine it, unsure what he should do about this. He was confused, not exactly able to discern what the proper course of action would be when social situations were a challenge and Bill somehow made it ten times worse with everything he did.

"You already make a good housewife, cutie, with all your cleaning skills." Bill patted the white cushions of the couch. "Not even a spot of pink left!"

The housewife comment had him thinking about something similar his parents had mentioned, but that felt like a lifetime ago and he shook the memory away, hoping to avoid the surge of grief.

Continuing to idly look over the band, he said, "Well, my shirt's ruined." It was debatable. Washing the fabric would likely remove any traces of stickiness, but perhaps a faint stain would remain afterward which wasn't the end of the world, but he'd really liked the red plaid shirt.

Bill didn't sound like he cared. "Buy a new one. You still have Stan's money, don't you kid? Or did you give it to your sister to waste online?"

"I still have it," Dipper confirmed, stealing a peek at Bill, "but I think _you_ should replace my shirt. You're the reason it's ruined, after all."

"Why don't I ruin it more?" Bill offered with a return glance at him. "Instead of buying you a new one, let's just fuck on your current one. It'll be sticky anyway."

"Gee, let me think about that. No."

Despite his persistent rejections, he placed the ring back on his finger with a mental note to figure out a more permanent solution later since it wasn't as if he could just keep the thing. With a motion toward it, he asked, "Is this ring even yours?" He wouldn't put it past Bill to obtain it illegally, and he didn't want to be caught in possession of something like that.

The expression he wore was one of pride. "I had it customized with the planetary stone for Scorpios. So, yes. It's mine."

"Scorpio, hm?" he mused, but never had put a lot of credibility in the concept of astrology and hadn't thought Bill to be the type that would either. "Aren't they the secretive, obsessive, and violent ones? Fitting."

Bill's gaze had returned to _BoJack_. "And what are you, a Pisces? Seems fitting to me, Pine Tree."

Shaking his head, his eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. "No, why would you think that?" Although not certain, he thought Pisces was the fish sign — so was it because of the fish tank earlier? He'd liked the mall's fish, their colors... the way they moved so gracefully, and he'd been left wanting to capture it on paper.

"Because you're stupidly emotional, kid. Which one are ya, then? You're not a Sagittarius, that's for sure."

"I'm, uh..." He racked his brain, trying to remember. About to say that he fell under the Virgo sign with a birthday on August 31st, Dipper hesitated as the implication jumped out at him: while Pisces was the fish, Virgo was the virgin. He didn't want to get Bill started on making fun of him for being a virgin again, and surely he'd latch onto that as a source of amusement. "No."

Reaching into his pocket, Bill pulled out his phone and began to mess around on it. "Suit yourself, cutie. I'll find out on my own."

Dipper frowned. If Bill knew, it would inevitably restart the conversation from before. "Fine, I'm… I'm a," he struggled to think of another sign, "Leo."

"Must be a cowardly lion, then. Sure explains why you're a huge pussy."

He shrugged it off, just hoping that would bring Bill's search to an end but upon noticing Bill's focus hadn't moved from his phone, an uneasiness settled within him and he questioned, "Are you still looking it up?"

"Yup." His phone glowed white as a page loaded. "Ooh, what's this? A late _August_ birthday?"

"Mm-hmm," Dipper said, strained, already knowing he'd lost this battle and was about to be called out on his bluff. Even so, he weakly restated, "A Leo."

Bill shook his head. "That cut off is the twenty-second, cutie. Your birthday is the thirty-first. You want to try that again, Virgin?"

Knowing he'd been caught, Dipper groaned loudly and covered his face in his hands. "Nope," he muttered and rolled onto his side so his back was turned to Bill, "leave me alone."

"Why, cutie? You scared I'll pop your precious cherry just by talkin' to ya?"

"Maybe, with some of what you've been saying to me." It _had_ been pretty filthy, he just prided himself on how well he could ignore Bill's blatant attempts to fluster him.

Okay, so he wasn't good at ignoring it. But he was trying damn hard.

Hunger forgotten, he grabbed the nearby blanket draped over the side of the sofa and threw it across himself, squeezing his eyes shut. If he was asleep, Bill couldn't bother him. Theoretically.

Only receiving a chuckle in reply, he heard the sofa creak as Bill got to his feet, Dipper's body tensing as he tried to gauge his movements but after a moment, the sensation of warm breath against his skin gave him a pretty good idea of Bill's location, and…

And now there was a brief, wet kiss being pressed to his cheek before Bill pulled back.

"Good night, cutie."

Although he didn't outwardly react, he wondered why Bill had absolutely no sense of boundaries. No personal space, no awareness of the fact he didn't like being around him. The sound of Bill's footsteps faded after the balcony door opened and closed, leaving Dipper alone in the penthouse to his thoughts. Seizing the opportunity, Dipper wiped Bill's saliva from his cheek. Ugh, gross.

* * *

There was a warm haze encased by a swirling mist around him, but he knew he was home, and in Dipper's hands was the golden lion statue. He was staring down at it in awe, disbelief completely consuming him since there was no way for the scene to be real. It wasn't possible. This couldn't be it.

His fingers brushed the smooth surface, tracing every subtle detail while a blurry reflection stared back at him through the gold.

Working through the mental fog, it suddenly occurred to him _why_ it wasn't possible for his current reality, the peace shattering before his eyes as the statue seemed to bleed in his very hands, the pulsing heat of its blood spilling over his palms and fingertips and dripping onto a floor that was just a pool of crimson. And he… he was _standing_ in it.

His immediate instinct was to bolt back, to get as far away from it as he could, but he found he couldn't move, stuck in place until an unseen force was knocking him over, sending him flying forward in a terrifying fall.

There was a distracting ringing and the sound of overbearing static in his ears. It made it hard to think, hard to comprehend what this horror was when the statue melted away to reveal marred skin blemished with scars and threads of tissue and organs and oh _god—_ he felt himself falling through the red liquid, it staining his very soul as it swallowed him whole. He was suffocating, drowning. He couldn't breathe.

Jolted awake by a touch, Dipper's eyes snapped open and immediately landed on the shadowy form of Bill. "You okay, kid?"

Unable to speak as he was too busy drawing in deep, shaky gulps of air, he nodded. When Bill didn't look sold, he forced himself to add an "I'm fine" that seemed unconvincing even to his ears. Not a spectacular performance, but he was relieved he'd been woken from that nightmare reality.

For a moment, he was wondering how _Bill_ was awake because it had to be approaching the wee hours of the morning and to his knowledge, he hadn't attempted to rest. Dipper was beginning to believe Bill just didn't sleep. Ever.

"Don't lie to me, Pine Tree." Bill looked like he wanted to say more, but he glanced away at the sound of the door banging open. "What the fuck?"

Stan had arrived in all his ragged glory, looking almost like he got hit by a bus. Every inch of him radiated fury, with Ford trailing after looking just as haphazard, and Soos sulking in the back.

"Ya could have gotten us killed, you fucker!" Stan hollered at Soos, who flinched back like a beaten puppy. Dipper's attention was instantly on the scene, anxious to find out what had caused them to end up in such a state.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pines, I didn't–"

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Soos! I don't want to see you right now!" When Soos didn't move, Stan lunged dangerously toward him to shout, "Ya waiting for a kiss on the cheek? Get out!"

Soos appeared to want to say more but the collective glower from both brothers silenced him, and his expression fell as he defeatedly exited the penthouse.

With Soos gone, Ford was tossing his backpack aside carelessly and producing several pages from inside his jacket, pinning them to the whiteboard as he erased what was written there previously. "Our entire plan… it's unusable," he muttered, though Dipper wasn't sure who he was talking to. "This take several days to reconfigure, at least. We'll never get the job finished in time..."

"What happened?" Bill had left Dipper's side to join Stan and Ford near the whiteboard. "What'd Question Mark do to fuck up so badly? Where's Red?"

Stan was still seething. "He radioed in the wrong coordinates and put us in cop central. We could've been fucking killed. Wendy got dropped off at her place on the way here, probably because she didn't want to be near that piece of shit."

"We've lost ammunition and an entire day of work to his easily-avoided mistake."

Bill ran a hand through his hair. "Damn. Guess he can't be trusted with even menial tasks. Is there a way we can recover from this?"

Dipper watched the three interact as they considered the new logistics of the job and whether or not they'd be able to complete it on time, their expressions ranging from concerned to frustrated to annoyed. Next thing he knew, Ford had a plethora of notes taped to the whiteboard and was furiously mapping out a new plan for them with Bill's assistance, Stan was busy making phone calls — a few to the client, another to their personal mechanic (impressive, given the time of night) to explain the damages to their vehicles and schedule repairs, and a final one to what he assumed was an ammunitions store.

By the time they gave it a rest, they looked thoroughly exhausted — especially Stan and Ford, as they were still worse-for-wear and hadn't had a time to amend that. But now, they were splitting off with Ford retreating to the master bedroom, and Stan and Bill departing for the balcony. Dipper closed his eyes again but didn't sleep, shaky from his nightmare and the bustle that followed.

A muffled, excited screech then a burst of chatter coming from the guest bedroom signaled Mabel was enjoying her call, and Dipper was mildly impressed she was still on it, but maybe… maybe not that impressed either, since Mabel was naturally likable to everybody and he wasn't nearly a quarter as extroverted as she could be. Dipper guessed that Mabel had to be lonely, being forced to leave her usual social circles behind at least temporarily while they were in the care of Stan and Ford.

Not long after, Stan and Bill stepped back inside with the quickly-fading reek of cigarettes following while Stan sank onto the couch and Bill hung out near one of the walls.

Other than the television, it was silent. And the silence was a tranquil and comfortable one, at least until Mabel ran in, full of energy. "I got a date with Pacifica! It's on Friday!" She almost jumped into Stan's lap from her excitement, peering up at him with big puppy eyes. "Can I go? Please? Pleaassee?"

Stan hesitated, clearing his throat. "A date? Too risky, the cops are still…"

Dipper was surprised, sort of. Mabel was a charmer, a people-person who could get along with anybody, but dating? Pursuing romantic interests? Once again, he found himself caught up in the fact their parents had just died, the murders so recent that even the thought stung him. He willed the tears to stay back, knowing he couldn't have another breakdown, especially not now in front of the others, but the disturbing dream threatened his ability to keep himself composed. His worry returned: how could Mabel be dealing with her grief if she was moving on with life so quickly, seemingly not giving them a second thought?

"Well, they're still…" Stan seemed to be struggling to find words, Mabel's puppy eyes intensifying. He could see Stan's resolve breaking down as he conceded, "Ah, okay. Fine. Just be careful."

" _Squee_!" She ran around the couch, circled the baby grand piano, then ran into the kitchen. Another high-pitched squeal erupted from her, "OHMYGOSH! I FOUND A POP-TART ON THE FLOOR! IT'S MINE!"

The mention of the Pop-Tart—formerly his Pop-Tart—had his stomach rumbling once more, and he realized this was the second time Mabel had taken food from him.

And that was today alone.

"You're not gonna stop her, Pine Tree?" Bill challenged him playfully. "She keeps stealing your food."

"Oh, uh," he shrugged, "I'm not hungry." It was a lie, but he wasn't about to take Mabel's food from her, even if it was originally his. He figured he shouldn't have left it on the floor if he was going to eat it and didn't want to potentially dampen Mabel's mood over something silly like that.

Bill shook his head. "Yeah, if you keep starving yourself you'll never make it in this world. Do you want a Pop-Tart or not, kid?"

The tiniest trace of slyness slipping into his tone, Dipper said, "Only if you get a new one for me."

He smirked and began to leave the room, entering the kitchen. "Whatever you want, sugar."

"Christ," Stan muttered. "What, are _you two_ dating now?"

Flushing at the mention of dates, Dipper laughed at the mere idea. Ironic, since he had been thinking about how impossible romantic pursuits seemed only a couple minutes ago, and to think about dating Bill— well, that was an automatic never. "God no, we're not dating."

Bill returned, dropping the Pop-Tart in Dipper's lap. "We're just engaged." Stunned, Dipper hadn't thought his face could get warmer, but it was positive on fire now, and he looked at Bill in an irritated panic. Why he hadn't seen this coming, he didn't know, because Bill had a tendency of _always_ making things worse.

" _WHAT_?" Stan's furious voice boomed across the room.

Continuing his streak of generally making a bad situation into a terrible one, Bill planted a kiss on Dipper's head despite his attempts to dodge it. Dipper was growing quite displeased with Bill's insistence on not only picking him up now, but kissing him whenever he deemed appropriate. "Well, you told us to not get _attached_ so I figured getting engaged after knowing each other for a day was a good even ground."

Finally finding his voice, Dipper protested, "We're not engaged! It's… it's just this stupid joke between him and Mabel."

Stan didn't seem convinced, the older man's eyes grazing over his hands. "You have his ring… why the _fuck_ did you accept?"

Okay, that was true, but it wasn't like he accepted anything. He didn't want to be romantically involved with Bill in any form, and he assumed Bill felt the same considering their interactions hadn't suggested differently. "I tried to return it, but he threw it at me and essentially told me to keep it. There wasn't an actual proposal." Except there was that time he _had_ proposed, but that'd been a cheap shot at making him uncomfortable, not a genuine marriage proposal...

His eyes flicked from Dipper to Bill. "Was there?"

"You betcha, Stan." Bill was grinning wickedly. Dipper wanted to _die_. "I did it in the middle of Rockford Plaza, and I asked him if he'd make me the happiest man in the world and marry me. He said yes."

Mabel came back into the room, a Pop-Tart sandwich with cookies and ice cream in her hands. "He did!" she confirmed excitedly. "So I guess that means my bro-bro is getting married!"

"I'm _not_ ," Dipper groaned and fell into the sofa in defeat, unsure why he bothered. It was probably better to let this conversation run its course rather than fight it when Stan didn't seem pleased with Bill, and Dipper could watch while he stuffed his face with the Pop-Tart.

Stan leaned over, face buried in his hands. "First, don't fucking bring the kids to that mall again. It's too dangerous with all the heat. Second, Bill, stay away from the kids–"

Dipper brightened at that, swallowing down a bite of his Pop-Tart to appreciatively say, "That'd be great, thanks."

"I don't care if Dipper's seducing ya–"

Probably from the sheer absurdity, Mabel giggled at this through a mouthful of her repulsively-sweet sandwich, taking a seat beside Dipper.

As fast as it'd appeared, his appreciation dissolved. "What? No!" If anything, Bill had been the one trying to seduce him — making him crossdress and masquerade as a stripper, _kissing_ his head, propositioning him for sex. But he doubted there was any seriousness in the offers, he just didn't have the guts or will to challenge him on it.

"– _stay_ away, okay? Dipper, I dunno why you're still wearing his fucking ring," quite frankly, he didn't either but hadn't a clue what else to do with it, "and I don't really want to know. Just… try to stay away from Bill, okay? I don't need ya two fucking around with each other. Or fucking each other." Dipper could ascertain that wouldn't be an issue.

As he resumed eating his Pop-Tart, Bill just smiled and moved to take a seat on the other side of Dipper, now trapping him between the two, leaning to take a sniff of Dipper's clothed shoulder. Dipper instantly bristled, shooting him a death-glare because he _knew_ what incident of their past he was referencing and wanted to punch him for it. "Okay, but is it just me or does Dipper smell gay?"

Looking up from her phone screen, Mabel chirped, "He is gay!"

"I'm bi," Dipper corrected.

"Bill," Stan's voice had an edge to it. "We have work to do, and you pestering the kid is only putting us back further."

Bill dismissed it with a simple, "Sorry, Big Daddy." And he thought _he_ didn't like the nickname Lil' Dippy — the expression on his face suggested Stan hated 'Big Daddy' far more.

Before Stan had a chance to reply, Ford was reentering the living room, looking significantly more composed than when he'd left earlier, and he took a seat next to his brother. "I believe I know a way we can successfully finish the job."

Bill's eyes flashed with piqued interest. "What'd your brain conjure now, Six Fingers?"

As Bill rose to join the brothers, Dipper leaned away and narrowed his gaze at him, remembering what _little habit_ he'd acquired recently. "Don't you dare."

In the corner of his vision, he saw Mabel glancing up to grin at them. "Dare what, cutie?" Although his tone was one of innocence, Bill's face told another story as he kissed his cheek.

"Fucking hate you."

Bill snickered. "You love me so much you want to have a threesome with me and Mabel."

That crossed a line. "Don't bring her into this," he snapped with a surprising coldness, voice brittle. Dipper didn't care if Bill wanted to throw sexual advance after sexual advance at him, he would deal with it, but he wasn't allowed to involve Mabel.

Beside him, he could hear Mabel muse. "I'm not into Dipper, but a threesome with Pacifica might be nice…"

Ford had witnessed the exchange and was merely staring at them, then shifted his attention to Bill questioningly — like he wasn't sure what to say, if he should say anything at all since nobody else had reacted in a particularly strong way. "Did I miss something?"

"I'll fill you in later," Stan cut in. "No time now." With that, they began chatting quietly together, leaving him and Mabel in relative peace. Much-needed peace.

Dipper looked to her phone—seeing she was texting her future date—and then up to her, shifting slightly as he ran a hand through his hair. "So, you and Pacifica, huh?"

Mabel had a lovestruck grin. "Yeah, she's great!"

"I'd hope so," Dipper replied, taking a quick glance at the owl clock to check the time. "You talked to her for three hours non stop tonight."

"You were talking to Bill," she reminded him. "And solidifying your engagement!"

He shook his head, "He watched _BoJack Horseman_ the whole night, barely said a word to me." There was the brief soda-fight and what ensued afterward, but before that had mostly been quiet.

"What was that crash earlier? And the shampooer being turned on?"

"I…" Dipper spared a sideways look at Bill, then returned his attention to Mabel, "I spilled something and had to clean it." He didn't need to go into detail, more interested in learning about Mabel's new friend because he would prefer to talk about Mabel's love life rather than his own—

His train of thought stopped, and he could've smacked his forehead in frustration.

No. Bill was not part of his love life. Dipper hated the fact that Mabel and Bill's dumb joke was seeping into his cognition.

Mabel's voice dropped into a whisper. "Did Bill spill his goop on you? Don't be shy, I've shared my sex life with you before."

That had been conversation he hadn't wanted to have or be a participant in, it was worth noting. And he was pretty sure the same remained true of this discussion as well. Sure, they were close—the best of friends and always had been—but some things could remain unspoken.

"N-no!" he said perhaps a bit too loudly, giving a sheepish wave as the attention of Ford, Stan, and Bill was brought to him for a moment. "That's not what happened," he hissed, burying his face in his hands for a moment as his cheeks reddened. "Can you just tell me about you and Pacifica? What's she like?" Other than great, that was.

"Oh, well, she's funny, and sweet, and smart, and she's _gorgeous_ and spicy, and really interesting because we didn't even run out of things to talk about the whole time we were on the phone and–"

"Okay, okay, I get it," he laughed as Mabel's sentence rambled on. "You're right, she sounds great." To use Mabel's word. He was happy for his sister, he really was, but one tiny part of him kept nagging, couldn't help but be concerned about this. "Are you sure you're ready to… uh, date?" He wished he knew how she wasn't a total mess like he was over this.

She laughed. "Yeah! Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's just… our parents," he murmured, gaze averting. "I thought you might want some time… and you don't have to jump back into everything, you can grieve for a while. A-and if you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you."

Mabel waved her hand, as if dismissing the idea. "I'm fine, Dipper! Really! Life's too short to grieve, y'know?"

Oh.

Well… alright, he guessed. Dipper wasn't sure how to respond to that, fighting back the tears again. "Just…" take care of yourself, he wanted to say as it lingered on the tip of his tongue, but ultimately he shook his head. Instead, he repeated, "Just remember I'm here for you."

They fell into a comfortable silence with Mabel resuming her text conversation with Pacifica, and Dipper absorbing himself in his thoughts.

Stan returned to the couch, falling into the cushion. "So, kids. Tell me about your, uh, home life. Since you'll be stayin' here a month or so, I wanna make sure you'll be comfortable and won't be runnin' off anywhere."

"Can we start by getting rid of Bill?" he asked dryly, though did have some things in mind that would possibly make the stay more enjoyable — first and foremost, actual food, and not just junk.

"Nah, you wouldn't make a good replacement."

"Not enough of a psychopath? I could be Bill." Dipper cleared his throat, summoning his best impression, "Blah blah blah, murder threats and sexual comments, let me fuck you Pine Tree, cutie, sugar — you're such a virgin but I'm having vivid fantasies about you and also babies. Or on second thought, I'll just pick you up and throw you off the balcony!"

"Don't forget the sternum stabbing!" Mabel said but didn't look up from her phone.

Stan shrugged, looking him over. "You're outside our Giant Bird guideline, sorry kid."

He blinked. "What?" Confusion washed over him, he hadn't the faintest idea what a _Giant Bird_ guideline was, nor did he have any guesses whatsoever.

"Yeah, uh… Ford's a little paranoid about space owls," there was a dissenting noise of protest from Ford, "or sumthin', so he put a clause in our rules saying you have to be within a certain weight limit to join our crew. He has an equation and everythin'."

"I've poured countless hours of research into determining the ideal weight of each individual in the crew, and given your height," Ford looked him over, "I don't believe you'd qualify. Shall we find out?" He rose from his spot on the sofa and scribbled an equation onto the whiteboard, asking, "Your height in inches?"

Dipper didn't need to know, had no _reason_ to know since he wouldn't be joining but complied regardless out of simple curiosity, "Sixty-seven."

Bill shook his head. "Sixty-seven, my triangles. Put him down to sixty-six just to be safe." And Ford did as Bill suggested, ignoring Dipper's heated complaint that he was closer to sixty-seven.

"Precisely as I'd thought," Ford stepped aside to reveal the final number, but squinted after a moment, perplexed.

"Hold on, Brainiac." Bill stepped forward, erasing a portion of Ford's equation and rewriting it correctly. "You carried the 'six' wrong."

"Yes, well, that aside," Ford was examining him again, "because you don't exceed one hundred thirty pounds, you would struggle under the weight of carrying supplies and be more of a risk than you would an asset." Ford went on to clarify, "Guns, specifically. They tend to be very important in our missions but can create quite a hefty load. And in addition, this ensures that you will not, in theory, be carried off by an oversized owl from space during a job, as that would be a terrible inconvenience to everyone involved."

Bill was smirking slightly. "Told ya you should eat, kiddo. As it is, you'll be taken away by a giant… space owl… thing."

Dipper frowned, unsure if he should be stumped by the possibility of a giant space owl (very intriguing, if nothing else) or… or what he should think after that spiel. He didn't want to offend Stan or Ford by outright stating he had no intention of being part of the crew though, so it wouldn't matter.

"Seriously, kid. Eat five more Pop-Tarts tonight. That's, what, a thousand calories or something?"

Stan cut in before he could reply. "OK, back on track. Is there anything else other than getting rid of Bill?"

Dipper started, "Maybe meal options—"

"What, you don't like the free-for-all?"

"—and books."

"Done, Ford's got some nerd books around here. Hope you like physics and anomalies."

"Games!" Mabel squealed. "We used to have a bunch of board games! And computer games! And dad got us like, a XBONE and a PS4–"

He pointed out, "Uh, Mabel… We never had any of those." Well, they did have board and computer games, but they had been heavily monitored by their parents — so nothing violent or downright uneducational. They always had been on the overprotective side.

Mabel slapped her hand over his mouth. "Shh, let's see what we can squeeze out of the old man."

"I can hear you, kid." Stan furrowed his eyebrows. "I think that's enough for tonight, we can pick it up later. You two ought to go to bed."

Stan wasn't exaggerating when he added that it was late, but Dipper dreaded going to sleep since he was afraid of another nightmare plaguing his rest, leaving him to wake in the throes of anxiety. But he wasn't going to argue and gave a curt nod, "See you in the morning. Come on, Mabel, let's get some sleep."


	7. Chapter 7

"...wake up! _Dipper_!" The sensation of being roughly shaken awake drew him out of his restless sleep. Anxiety still pulsed in his veins, his body shaking from the terrifying experience. Very faintly, he could recall he dreamed, but the specifics were lost to him despite the lifelike nature of his nightmares.

In the dark, his eyes adjusted to see the moonlit-outline of Mabel peering down at him, an expression of annoyance painted across her face. "I can't sleep with your thrashing," she informed him. "You keep muttering and flailing, and you'll have to sleep somewhere else if you're going to continue. I _need_ my beauty sleep, I have a date today!"

Although still in the midst of a sleepy haze, he processed what she was telling him: essentially, he was being kicked out of their bedroom. Dipper didn't think he could blame her for wanting quality rest, but the nightmares just kept coming and infecting his mind as he slept, and he didn't think a day had gone by in which he hadn't woken up in a similar state of panic. He was beginning to feel the exhaustion wear at him from all sides. Physically, emotionally, and mentally, he felt drained.

"Okay," he complied through a tired rasp, in no position to argue with her when _he_ was the problem. Dipper drew himself from the sheets and grabbed one of the blankets and his pillow, leaving to flop down on the sofa instead. It was quiet, much more peaceful out here than in his dreams — he almost didn't want to go back to sleep in fear there'd be nobody to wake him this time.

But the serenity was interesting, for once there was no Bill Cipher stalking around the penthouse during all hours of the day and night waiting for an opportunity to bother him. Maybe he wasn't even here since he seemed to leave frequently, or maybe, _just maybe_ , he was sleeping.

In accordance with Stan's request, Dipper had actually been staying away from him and their interactions had been minimal, though he still wore the guy's ring. After that night, he'd kept it on and now it was more of a habit, he… didn't really know what was up with that but wasn't sure what else to do with it.

Turning onto his side to try to get more comfortable, he blankly stared at the wall as he considered the nightmares he'd been having — they were always a variation of _that night_ , the night that'd changed his life, shaken his entire world until it was an unrecognizable mess of its former self. There were pools of blood, always violence and gore, and the sound of guns. Sometimes he was killed instead of his parents, those were the less disturbing ones.

The golden lion was usually there, just the thought of that horrible thing had his stomach twisting in queasy knots. It'd been the last thought on his mind before he'd seen… them.

The nausea returned, and he forced his mind on a new track.

Now his life was different and strange, and he didn't think he'd ever feel the same sense of belonging he used to, couldn't even get a full night's sleep without being woke by his own horrifying thoughts.

Feeling restless and a little distressed, Dipper had abandoned his spot on the plush sofa and was busy pacing the expanse of the penthouse instead. Perhaps that would put him in a better position for a decent sleep, something he was desperately in need of after the haunting nightmares.

He played with the possibility of reading for a while (Ford's "nerd books" had been quite interesting) or messing with some mindless game or app on his phone, both activities that he'd immersed himself in to alleviate the boredom of being trapped in the penthouse when the others weren't around, or were too busy with their work to acknowledge him. He didn't mind, knowing he was just a guest, lingering temporarily until it was safe to leave.

The sound of a door closing alerted Dipper to the arrival of Bill, who gave him a look of annoyance. Dipper paused in his movements to examine the sight: appearing quite overtired, Bill's blond hair was mussed in a few different directions, and he was wearing something other than the formal attire — that… that was new. He had on a yellow, long-sleeved shirt with black boxers, a yellow star-print on them; maybe it wasn't as new as he'd initially thought, just more casual. "Okay, Pine Tree." His voice was exhausted, borderline harsh. "Your pacing is _really loud_ , and I'm trying to _sleep_ like _everyone_ else here."

"Wait, you actually do that?" Dipper asked, raising an eyebrow but shaking the thought away after a moment. At least this confirmed Bill was probably human. Rubbing at his arms, he defensively murmured, "I wasn't being _that_ loud."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but yes, _I do_ try to sleep. Shocking, I know." The frustration on his face was still apparent. "So, what gives? One of us ought to get some shut-eye, better spill what's on your mind Pine Tree."

Maybe he would be flattered by that half-hearted extension of compassion if he wasn't so concerned about having to confess to the nightmares. Dipper didn't want to talk about it, he hadn't told anybody about the bad dreams and wasn't planning on telling _this_ one of all people. So he decided to skirt the question. "The usual, kept awake by persistent thoughts of how I'd like it if that hot Bill guy fucked me." It was sarcastic, evidently so, referencing the teasing joke Bill had made toward him several days ago at Rockford Plaza.

Bill leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "Sugar, if you wanted me to fuck you senseless you should've been open to it hours ago. Now, why the fuck are you really pacing? I don't like it when people bullshit me."

"Funny," he muttered dryly, resuming his pacing with his hands clasped behind his back. He could use a pen to chew on right about now. But still, he didn't want to delve into the nightmares and explain to Bill what was troubling him, knowing it wouldn't matter anyway because Bill would probably laugh and brush it off, so he redirected the conversation, "Didn't Stan tell you to stay away from me?"

"He's not going to enforce that, cutie. You can't get rid of me so easily."

Continuing to silently debate whether or not he should be honest, Dipper paused near the wall window, staring into the mess of lights below as he tried to sort out his tangled thoughts. But in the next moment, he was distracted by the noise of footsteps creeping toward him, and he tensed when he felt a wispy, warm breath against the back of his neck while even hotter hands slid to rest on his hips. Bill's chin rested on his shoulder as he gave a low murmur, "You gonna talk, cherry?"

This position was familiar, it stirred a very vivid memory of his feet dangling hundreds of feet above the asphalt jungle of Los Santos, heart in his throat as his mind was surprisingly calm, and he recalled how the little urge to jump had nagged at him, encouraging him to end it all right then. And Bill had been there, almost exactly like this. The thought had Dipper biting his lip and emitting a shaky puff of air. An inhale to refill his lungs' lack of oxygen had the scent of spicy honey surrounding him, fogging his mind for a mere second before he pushed the thought back. "Yeah," he replied thickly, "just give me a moment." A moment to recollect himself, to… to move— he knew he should move away, but this was sort of nice. Without delving into the question of whether or not he'd have went through with it, this was the reason he was alive, still here, and not a pulp on the sidewalk. "We should move to the couch for this, it… it's kind of," heavy, a source of his trauma that loomed like a shadow, "a lot, I guess."

"Okay," Bill said as he led him to the sectional couch, sitting down beside him. "What's up, cutie? Don't be shy, you can tell me _anything_ on your mind." There was a dangerous slyness to his voice that put Dipper on edge, a crafty gleam in Bill's golden eyes as they flashed in an almost catlike manner. Dipper didn't understand— maybe there was a light reflecting off of them?

Hesitating, Dipper searched his gaze, attention drawn to the clustered flecks of blue lost in bright amber, but they gave nothing away, only a guarded coldness that served as a sharp contrast from his empathetic words.

Despite the edge of anxiety, Dipper wondered where he should start with the habit it'd become, the cycle of fearing nightmares that led him to grow more and more sleep deprived. "Mabel kicked me out of our bed." He had a feeling he wasn't welcomed back either, not until he got this situation under control, because he couldn't be waking her every few hours with his thrashing and distressed noises. Dipper made a motion toward his makeshift bed on the other side of the sofa, "So I moved out here."

The darkness of the room couldn't hide Bill's smirk. "Were you groping her in your sleep or something?"

"Holy shit, no." The idea was… disturbing, approximately as horrifying as the nightmares and Bill was just determined to give him some new ones apparently. "I guess I've been a restless sleeper for a few nights." Dipper's voice raised like it was a tentative suggestion, a bit worried about how Bill would react since he didn't have the energy to deal with his teasing tonight.

"Yeah, those nightmares you've been having are one hell of an annoyance." More kindly, he added. "Not your fault, but still. No wonder Mabel kicked you out."

Startled by Bill's knowledge of the situation and his strangely understanding response, he flushed. "You, uh," he coughed in embarrassment, "you know about that, huh?"

Bill shrugged, his eyes flicking from Dipper to the wall window. "It's hard not to, considering I woke you up the other day. Remember?"

"Oh." At least that meant the others probably didn't know, but Bill was bad enough. "But yeah, nightmares. They're all pretty similar." Rubbing the back of his neck, Dipper wanted to go on since he knew Bill would ask him, but he was feeling choked. He couldn't pinpoint why he felt so ashamed of this, however discussing the nightmares was the equivalent of pulling teeth perhaps because the cognitions were so damn anxiety-inducing and he had no control over if they appeared, how long they stayed, if they would wake him in a sweaty panic.

"You want to talk about them in details, kid?" Bill asked. "Or would you rather not do that?"

Although he'd correctly guessed Bill would inquire about them, he didn't know he'd be presented with a choice and Dipper observed, "You're significantly more pleasant when you're sleep-deprived."

He chuckled lowly. "I'm always sleep-deprived, cutie. I can hardly get five minutes on good nights."

"Too many fantasies about me in a lacy, pink thong?" He rolled his eyes but didn't wait for a reply, thinking about how he should approach the nightmares. Dipper tried to mentally identify the consistent pieces of each but felt himself becoming tongue-tied, the stage fright of talking about it returning. "As for the nightmares…" he forced himself, "they're always about that night." Stomach churning, he didn't know if he was going to be sick or cry, which consequence of grief it'd be this time. "I think seeing them," his parents, "really messed me up."

"Relax, cutie." His gaze had returned to him, hand moving to rest on his knee. "You look stiffer than a board."

"It's like you're using this as an opportunity to flirt with me," he laughed a bit sadly, brushing a hand through his hair as he sunk further into the sofa. His focus wasn't on the touch, mind much more preoccupied with the nightmare issue.

He shook his head at him, a smile at the corners of his mouth and despite what he'd claimed earlier, Bill still seemed nicer when they were both overtired beyond belief. "Please, doll. I've been nothing but a gentleman. I imagine your parents' bodies did have some impact on your mental state, but it'll get better. Trust me on that, Pine Tree."

Dipper gave him a skeptical look. "Trust you? Nothing you've done to this point has given me confidence in your dependability… or in your chivalry, for that matter." He wasn't trustworthy, nor was he a gentleman as far as Dipper was concerned.

"You should be grateful," Bill told him. "I haven't Soos'd you yet."

"Oh my god," he groaned, "that's some weird sex thing, isn't it? ...Oh." It dawned on him. "You mean that one guy?" He'd almost forgotten there was a member of the Owls of Anarchy named Soos since he hadn't been seen around here since the evening they'd sent him away.

"And _I'm_ the dirty one. You make me look chaste, cutie."

"Hugh Hefner couldn't make you look chaste," he retorted, ignoring Bill's mutter of 'bless that man.' "I thought you meant Seuss as in… Dr. Seuss. Sexy times with rhymes." Curiosity lapping at him, he asked, "But what is Soos...ing me?"

"He's a fucktard at the worst times."

Although he wanted to point out Bill was basically a fucktard all the time, he let it drop and said, "Yeah, I still don't know what you're going for there."

Bill had a small smile planted across his face. "If I Soos'd you, you would've been shot to death by a bunch of cops by now."

"Are you talking about what happened a while ago?" Dipper didn't know what else he'd be referencing. "I mean, that sucked, but… it was one time." And Stan and Ford had been fine, albeit furious with Soos for doing that.

"Kid, if you think he's only fucked up once, you'd be dead wrong."

"Kind of getting some creepy vibes from all these death-related phrases," a sigh escaped him as he tried to relax again, "and I'm already struggling with nightmares as it is."

He chuckled, "You need to lighten up, cutie. It's not good for your health to always be a Negative Nancy."

"Oh gee, thanks, I'm sure my new positive attitude will cure my nightmares." Every word dripped with sarcasm as he spoke, and he shuffled to flop onto his back, draping his legs over Bill's lap a bit carelessly. "Do you have any _actual_ advice for a change? And for the love of god, don't give me that 'Stop' nonsense."

Bill ran his fingers down Dipper's ankles and feet, the motion causing him to shiver lightly. "My advice is to stop thinking about it so much. Seriously, my 'Stop nonsense' will do ya a lot of good, kid."

That was easier said than done, and he confessed, "There's not a lot to do around here." Most of the crew was going in and out of the penthouse intermittently throughout the day, and he and Mabel were left behind to entertain themselves… which worked for a while, but there just wasn't much to occupy a grieving mind. Phone apps were only so many hours of fun, and that left browsing the Internet or cleaning the penthouse, the latter something he'd done multiple times over in the past few days.

"I'm sure you can find something to occupy your time." Bill was continuing to run his fingers down his feet idly. "Pretty sure we have Netflix, you can get addicted to some dumb show."

"Like _BoJack Horseman_?" he teased, knowing Bill had a particular fondness for it. Although a plausible suggestion, he didn't control the television — Mabel usually decided what they were going to watch (he didn't have a preference), or at least she did when she wasn't texting or talking to Pacifica on the phone.

"If you want. Hell, I'd watch that with you if you wanted. It's a damn good show."

"Wow, the fantastic and handsome Bill Cipher making time in his busy schedule to watch _BoJack_ with me? How flattering." Dipper was on a sarcastic kick this evening, deciding the lack of sleep made him more inclined.

"Cutie, I know I'm good looking, but you should save the bedroom talk for when we're fucking."

Dipper tore his gaze away from the ceiling to settle it on Bill, eyebrows hitching in surprise. He didn't know why he seemed to think they were going to be getting it on in the future. "Pity you'll never hear it again."

Bill shrugged. "You say that now, sugar, but you won't be able to resist me for long. It's a fact twinks like you won't be able keep your hands off me forever. You'll cave into your desires."

"You're right," he sat up to flick Bill in the cheek rather unceremoniously, snickering, "I can't keep my hands off you."

"That's okay," Bill said with little reaction, patiently tolerating the abuse as Dipper flicked him another time for good measure. "I'll just keep my dick in you."

And that was the end of sitting with Bill comfortably. Dipper shuffled away from him and rose from the couch, resuming his pacing in front of the wall window as he kept his eyes on the city below, still alive despite the time of night. He mused that it was never quiet, just busy and even busier. "How long do Mabel and I have to stay here?" It'd been less than a week and he was already tired of this, just wishing he could try to resume his life as normally as possible since staying here didn't seem to be helping his mental state.

Going out on their own was extremely intimidating, but it was one step above being cooped up.

He looked over in time to notice Bill was yawning as he stretched, his back arching. "Maybe less than a month? It's a little hard to say, but that's how long it took for others when they stayed here."

It was difficult to not appear disappointed in that. A month was so long, especially when he couldn't manage to get a peaceful night's sleep.

"You look happy. Can't handle a few weeks in Stanland?"

"Since getting rid of you apparently wasn't an option, no." But that wasn't the problem, not really. More like one of many.

Bill's eyes rolled. "Stop wishing I was gone, cutie. It's not gonna happen."

"In spite of your generous offer to watch _BoJack_ with me, or... your many offers to sleep with me, I can't imagine you aren't wishing I was gone." But luckily for both of them, that would happen eventually in what might be less than a month's time.

"Eh, I don't really have a huge preference either way. You're entertaining to me, kid."

Dipper bristled. He'd already known given the copious amounts of teasing, but to be so brazen about it was a new level of nonchalance. As he reached the end of the wall window, he stopped, unwilling to turn around since he'd be facing Bill again and right now, he didn't think he could. He didn't want to, knowing that stupid smirk was probably on his face. "I just wanted a normal life," the one he'd had before all of this, "in which I'd go back to college in the fall and not spend the rest of it being messed up after—" after seeing his parents dead, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Sorry to burst your safety bubble, kid, but life is never normal in Los Santos. It's killed or be killed, and your parents obviously didn't pull their trigger fast enough."

Not in the mood, he didn't want to hear it and coldly replied, "Right."

"Honestly," Bill coolly continued, "if your mom had been better at cracking down on gangs maybe she wouldn't be dead."

"I'm starting to think the nightmares would actually be preferable over talking to you." He was willing to retract his statement about Bill being pleasant when overtired, he was back to being as annoying and unkind as ever.

"Come on cutie, I'm trying to _help_. You're being too sensitive."

Combing a hand through his hair, he exhaled slowly. "Or maybe you're just being insensitive."

"Nah, I'm as sensitive as a bee. Buzz buzz."

"Coincidentally, you look like one too." With black and yellow being his signature colors.

Something smacked into his back, and he whirled around to see a pillow on the ground. Bill must've thrown it at him. "Are you going to cry about that like you do everything else, Pine Tree?"

Dipper scowled, expression darkening with fury. While he was generally hard to rile into genuine anger, Bill pushed all the right buttons to bring him to that point since he couldn't find it in himself to just be _slightly_ understanding, not even caring enough to make an effort or pretend to be decent — no, the only thing he seemed to be capable of was telling him to get over it, that he was immature for wanting to grieve at his own pace. Intending on putting the pillow back into its rightful place, Dipper snatched it from the ground and advanced toward the sofa, smacking Bill in the face as hard as he could manage—and feeling mildly satisfied by the loud _THWUMP_ it created; he just didn't want to see that smirk anymore, or hear his dumb voice.

Bill looked surprised by the attack, but that quickly faded into laughter. "My stars, you're such a child! No wonder you're so damn sensitive."

"You threw it first," Dipper reminded him bitterly, returning the pillow to the corner of the sofa.

"Yeah," Bill laughed, "but I didn't go bashing it on you because I'm having a little emotional tantrum."

Frustrated, Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose and began pacing again, wishing there was a pen in his mouth to chew on until it was a malformed piece of plastic. Although it was difficult to keep his emotions in check when he was trying to deal with the sudden surge of loss in an otherwise unremarkable life, Bill was right in saying the outburst _had_ been childish, and he was upset since he was better than that.

After minutes of pacing, he ultimately flopped back down on the sofa, collapsing into a pathetic heap as Bill continued to watch him. In a more gentle tone than normal, he spoke: "Do you hate me that much, Pine Tree?"

Dipper mumbled, "You make it really easy."

"I could say the same about you, cutie. The only thing you have going for you right now is you look more fuckable than Soos."

"Thanks," he said flatly, giving Bill a quick glance, "you don't."

"So you'd fuck Soos? Damn kid, that's some low standards. Let me know how you find his dick through all his fat."

Dipper shook his head, "Just because he's more… fuckable," to use Bill's word, "doesn't mean I'd act on it. I'm not you."

"You should be. You'd have a hell of a lot better time than," he beckoned toward him, "whatever the fuck you're doing with yourself now. Moping?"

"So you're suggesting I sleep around to avoid the grief," he clarified, the idea sounding so very Bill-esque and no better than his Stop Method.

"Hey, your sister does and it works well for her!"

Protectiveness ignited within the depths of his soul, and the next thing he felt was his jaw tightening hard enough to give him a headache. "Don't bring Mabel into this." It was the second time he'd made that request, not that Bill seemed to be able to process it through his thick skull. Laced with a menacing iciness, he added slowly, "What she does isn't any of my business."

Bill grinned. "Look, kid, don't hate on me for being honest with you. Your sister has a hell of a good time being loose, maybe you should try it out."

The comment had Dipper feeling sick and enraged, and he didn't know why Bill thought it was appropriate on any level— he almost couldn't believe it, the sheer amount of abrasion required to reach this, how the teasing escalated _to Mabel_ because that was taking it way too fucking far. His annoyance with this was bleeding into frustration from other dick moves Bill had pulled on him, rendering his control threadbare, slipping impossibly fast even though he _knew_ Bill was just doing this for a reaction, to satiate his own demented and twisted need for entertainment but that merely egged him on and stirred the embers that threatened to explode into a blazing inferno. If he was just doing it for a reaction, well…

Well, he would give him a goddamn reaction.

In a quick movement, Dipper grabbed the pillow again and whipped it toward Bill, aiming not _for_ him but just close enough to distract—

And by the time Bill had caught the pillow, he was too late to do anything but watch dumbly as Dipper's wound fist swung forward and decked him in the jaw with a deliciously surprising force.

There was a second of calm, a second where time was frozen between them. A second in which they both stared at each other in surprise, Dipper's aching fist dropping to his side as he blinked in astonishment at what he'd done.

He didn't get a chance to face the inevitable regret because Bill was knocking him over, pinning him with excruciating roughness, and tightly— _painfully_ —restraining his wrists above his head by holding them together so hard he was sure it was going to leave a bruise. "Is that the best you got, Pine Tree?" Bill shouted the demand as he towered over him, the intimidating boom sending blood rushing through his ears and adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Bring it, kid! I've had worst hits from my dad on a good day!"

The words stolen from him, Dipper went limp as he tried to process that, but only began to panic when he felt Bill's other hand press down on his throat. The pressure was so light, almost nonexistent, but it was the _threat_ that had him on edge. When he breathed, he could feel the slight obstruction of Bill's fingers redirecting the air. "Well, Pine Tree? You going to keep attempting your _pathetic_ attack? I could _kill_ you right now." Bill's fingers gently pushed on his airway, briefly making it difficult for Dipper to breathe.

He whimpered, the sensation so strange and foreign with Bill's fingers there, and said a bit breathlessly, "Yeah, you could." The other piece of his statement, the unspoken truth, was a suspended tension between them.

 _But you won't._

"I want to," Bill quietly said, sounding almost fascinated. His eyes were bright, predatory. "You have such a pretty little throat. It would be so… _remarkable_ , to feel your breath strangled from you as you feebly struggle to escape."

Shuddering with dread, he really— _really_ didn't want to know where this was going. "Bill," it was a soft albeit firm demand, "let me up."

The compliance immediate, he was released and Bill sat back on the couch, fingers stroking his own throat. "Delicate," was all he said. "Your throat is incredibly soft, Pine Tree."

His mind short-circuited. What was he supposed to say to _that_?

"O-oh?" Dipper near-asked, voice raised with concern. "Look, uh, breathplay later, but for now I probably shouldn't have punched you so…" he rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm sorry about that."

"Pine Throat, don't tease about the breathplay. We both know there won't be a _later_ with you." Bill lowered his hand. "You should be. My face isn't a punching bag for your noodle arms."

"Did I hurt you?" Dipper let out a bark of a sad laugh. "Guess it doesn't matter. You wouldn't tell me if I did." And he was right, Bill was giving him nothing but a blank stare, so he moved on. "About what you said before…"

Bill scoffed. "Surprised you were listening, considering how focused on _attacking me_ you were."

Ignoring Bill's attempts to redirect him or pick another fight that'd veer them into a new discussion, he was too curious to let it affect him. "Talk about it. I promise I can be a good listener."

"If you are, then you sure haven't shown me."

Dipper shrugged. "Well, it's you. I usually don't bother, but I can make an exception."

"Let's step outside," he offered but was already starting for the balcony, grabbing his jacket on the way out, while Dipper trailed behind. "Get some fresh air."

A puff of bitter laughter escaped him at that. "There's no fresh air in this city."

Opening the sliding door had a rush of heat greeting them and Dipper inhaled, Bill's perpetual spicy honey scent mixing with the many smells of Los Santos, most unpleasantly polluted. No shocker there but unfortunate regardless, even more so with the political efforts his parents had been making to fix the environmental problems. But that wasn't what mattered right now. "So about your parents…" he started, glancing to Bill as he waited to see if he'd talk about it after dodging the subject earlier.

Bill's gleaming eyes were on the sky, scanning. Seeking. "There's not much to say, kid. My dad hit me." Bill's hand motioned carelessly while Dipper chewed his lip in consideration, noting the emotionlessness of his recollection. Weird, but then again, this was Bill. "Thought if he beat me enough, it'd kill any gay. And it worked."

"Obviously, I can't think of anything more straight than how you've been relentlessly hitting on me."

"You're a girl. It's fine." Dipper's eyebrows hitched critically, Bill waved him away. "Go back to being a housewife, won't you?"

He stared at Bill for several seconds before turning his attention to the city below, fighting down the old wounds of being called feminine, unmanly. Old wounds that'd inflicted deeper hurt than Bill could ever hope to do with his risible verbal assaults. "First, I'm _not_ a girl, and second, I'm not a housewife." Even if he did clean the penthouse to ward off his boredom and intrusive thoughts, that didn't make him a housewife especially when his residence here wasn't completely by choice.

He could hear him scoff. "Please, those feminine hips of yours don't lie, cutie." What could only be Bill's hand slapped his ass, bringing Dipper to flush lightly but whether his reaction was a result of the crude comment or the motion, he didn't know.

Dipper turned his back to the railing to prevent future smacks, muttering defensively, "Still not a girl."

"Don't lie to yourself, sugar." He could see Bill looking back at the sky, and he followed his line of vision but didn't spot anything of interest: just the standard Los Santos skyline and a couple faded stars. Bill's expression turned into something similar to a frown. "Can't see anything good."

Dipper peered questioningly at Bill but elected for silence, choosing instead to begin pacing on the balcony. This was merely a continuation, a change of scenery with the same problem haunting him: the lack of rest from nightmares ever-present in his sleep.

Bill seemed disinterested but commented, "You're going to wear the concrete out."

"Yes, witness my long-con suicide attempt. Less efficient than jumping over the rail, but has much more of a buildup."

"You have the most boring suicide attempts."

"How would you propose spicing it up?"

"Douse yourself in gasoline, light a match, and run down Main Avenue with your body burning. That'd be hot."

That was definitely a pun, and he smiled a little crookedly as he hummed, "As much as I lava good blaze, I don't think I could take the heat." Bill's annoyance at the puns encouraged him to keep going. "So I have to ash: do you have any other ideas?"

Bill laughed. "Death by cop."

Smile fading, he deemed the thought a bit morbid, unnervingly so when it was coming from Bill and half-tempted to ask if he had something he wanted to talk about. But he held his tongue, in favor of simply resuming his pacing and wishing he could figure out some way to sleep without the terrible imagery haunting him.

"So, Pine Tree." Bill seemed to be shifting the subject away. "You wanted to go to college?"

"Wanted to go _back_ to college this fall," Dipper corrected because he'd already started and was over a year into his studies.

A contemplative hum. "What for?"

As he asked what his focus was, he hesitated in his answer; while he'd normally be happy to share, he was always cautious in doing so with Bill, never quite sure what would be used against him. But finally he responded with the smallest of chuckles, "Art. Visual art."

"I figured it'd be something faggy like that."

Dipper sighed, he'd known it was coming. "It used to be film studies," that'd been the logical choice after doing theater crew throughout high school, "but I liked art better, so I switched. Kind of miss my sketchbook."

Bill glanced at the street below. "If you liked art better, why even bother wasting time with film?"

It'd partially been a money problem. Despite his family's status, he hadn't been _handed_ anything to use for his college education when his parents had spent years forcing him into clubs and activities so he'd have a better opportunity for scholarships. They'd been strict about their kids paving their own path in life. But Dipper didn't want to talk about that, it would be just begging for the grief to consume him so he settled on, "Most people end up changing their majors multiple times." It wasn't that he'd known right away that he was going to enjoy art more, it was an exploration process. Raising an eyebrow, Dipper asked, "Did you just automatically know what you wanted to do, _Doctor_?" If memory served, he recalled Bill mentioning previous college experience, though he hadn't really elaborated on it.

"I wanted to do theater," bitterness crept into his voice, "but my father— fuck kid, I don't owe you anything. I didn't have the opportunity to change my major multiple times. Or once, even."

Something about the way Bill said it sent a cold shiver of dread into him, maybe the dangerous inflection had him uneasy. "Never too late, dude. I can see it now, Bill Cipher as Billy Flynn in _Chicago_ ," he spared him a sideways glance and hesitant grin, "you'd be great as a shady lawyer."

Bill shrugged. "It's not my thing anymore, cutie. Besides, it wouldn't be a good idea considering I'm a wanted criminal."

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot you were kind of a famous criminal here in Los Santos," Dipper used Bill's words, facetiously citing the conversation that occurred directly before he'd remembered where he'd seen him all that time ago, "and you top most wanted lists. The media can't get enough of you."

"They really can't." His voice had become smug. "I'm sure you've seen my image plastered—"

"On the poster for _The Pajama Game_? Yes."

"I should chuck you off this balcony." The reply was tense, agitated. He could see Bill's fingers twitch against the railing.

"Guess if you did, you'd have to find somebody else to carry and mercilessly tease to your heart's content."

Bill didn't seem amused. "That's called your sister. You're easily replaceable."

"She wouldn't put up with your shit like I do. Mabel has a backbone." Dipper snorted. "Besides, you wouldn't like it as much, she wouldn't be _entertaining._ " Maybe he was still slightly bitter about that, he hadn't cared for being told he was a mere plaything, an object of amusement to Bill, but it wasn't as if he'd expected any differently with this jackass.

"At least she wouldn't be such a pain to sleep with."

"You just threatened my life, then called me easily replaceable. Why I'm not begging for a fuck after such magnificent dirty talk is an absolutely unsolvable mystery." How he ever managed to get a doctoral degree was lost on Dipper if he was this dense.

"All I've done, sugar, was be honest with you. Anyone in their right mind would love my dick in them."

"Well, I wouldn't, and you still suck at courting." And given the nature of his interactions with Bill, he didn't understand why he'd want to sleep with him… assuming there was an element of seriousness in it, which he had doubts about.

"Seeing your parents' corpses must've really fucked you up." Bill was fishing his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one up and offering another to Dipper, who wanted to make a comment about health-related concerns again but held his tongue, actually taking one with the justification that it was: one cigarette that Bill couldn't enjoy, and supposedly had calming properties that might be able to lead to peaceful sleep.

"Thought we already established that." It was a bit snappish, though he wasn't sure if it was irritated with Bill, himself, or the recurring nightmares, settling on a mix of all three. "But regardless I wouldn't be into you, dude. You're an ass."

He laughed at that. "The only ass here is yours, cutie."

"I should throw your cigarettes over the balcony for that." Okay, so maaaybe he was mocking Bill's tendency to threaten him with that particular method of death. Just a little.

"Maybe I should press the burning end of mine into your pretty little skin and watch you squirm in pain."

Dipper fiddled nervously with the cigarette that he'd taken, corners of his lips twitching downward. "So you've been taking foreplay tips from _Cosmopolitan_."

Bill blew smoke into the air. "Never read it."

"Guess you're just naturally inclined to stupid ideas then."

"I'm naturally inclined to put a bullet in your head." He seemed to notice how clueless Dipper was with the cigarette, and he pulled out his lighter to light Dipper's. "Put the orange end in your mouth."

Doing as instructed, he placed his lips around the cigarette and watched through a semi-puzzled gaze as the other side ignited, the tobacco lit. Unsure of what to expect, he drew in a deep breath and—

Instant regret.

Dipper flinched back and immediately succumbed to a series of violent, body-shuddering coughs, woozier than he'd ever thought possible and feeling so terribly sick from the single drag. One shaking hand grasped the railing of the balcony to steady himself, certain he'd be falling over otherwise. "G-get the bullet," he was interrupted by his own hacking, " _get the bullet_." This was one of the worst possible physical sensations he'd ever experienced and was wishing he'd never accepted the cigarette in the first place.

"Nah, this is better." He was watching him suffer with a smirk.

" _Ohmygod_ , Bill—" Dipper moaned, strained. He was hunched over the rail now, but didn't register the city below since he was too focused on how awful every inch of him felt. "I'm— I'm gonna.." he didn't even get to finish the warning as he dry-heaved, trembling wildly while tears welled in his eyes. Biggest mistake of his life, it was right up there with entering the hallway...

"Christ, kid. You can't even handle a little tobacco."

By the time he was finished, he was still draped over the rail in a boneless heap, hands covering his flushed face as he tried to stabilize himself again. Why people craved this sort of lightheadedness, he had no idea but knew he'd not be subjecting himself to it in the future.

"Smoke more. You'll get used to the taste." A pat on the back, then a pause. "You're not going to toss up your guts, are ya?"

He didn't respond right away, still trying to feel well enough to do more than just breathe and exist, but when he finally did it was a weak, semi-broken laugh. "Don't have any." A sad joke but also thankfully true since he'd been dry-heaving instead of vomiting, and there was an ironic piece to it; in the past he'd repeatedly demonstrated his ability to stand up to Bill, though wasn't quite in condition to when he was overly exhausted from nightmares or one cough away from dying because he'd attempted to smoke.

"Oh, I'm sure you have _some_ in there. Do you want to lay down?"

"Bullet's still my preference," Dipper stopped mid-sentence, thinking he was going to be ill again. He was relieved when it never came and continued, "but I guess that's a close second."

He peered out of his hands to see Bill grinning down at him. "I can always shoot you on the couch if ya want, kid."

"Okay," he agreed with a sigh, caving. "When Mabel replaces me, don't forget to tell her that she should mess with your bowtie at every possible opportunity."

"I'll pass," Bill said. "Or I'll have to cut off her hands." He moved to wrap his arms around Dipper, lifting him in a fashion similar to Bridal style.

Dipper was limp in his arms, feeling too sick to be putting up a fight. "Some replacement she'll turn out to be."

There was no hiding the edge to his voice as he approached the sofa on the balcony. "Yeah, well I don't like replacements fucking with my shit. When you did, I wanted to murder you and discard your corpse in a dumpster."

"Looks like today's your lucky day."

"Don't tempt me, Pine Tree." He dropped him onto the sofa.

Looking up at Bill's tall form, his head was still spinning and he briefly wondered if his pupils betrayed the sense of motion sickness he felt. In an attempt to lessen the discomfort, his eyes fluttered closed as he challenged gently, "Do your worst."

There was a muffled yet alarmingly loud pop, and Dipper could feel something whip over his hair and hit the cushion just above his head. Startled, his eyes flew open again, wide as they snapped to Bill. Although he was risking becoming sick from the motion, Dipper scrambled to his stomach to see the damage, his suspicions confirmed and almost in disbelief, he murmured, "You… shot the sofa."

"I told you to not tempt me." There was movement on Bill's end, and at a glance Dipper could see the handle of Bill's gun vanish into a pocket of his formal jacket.

"Must've tempted you so hard your aim faltered," Dipper commented, feeling shaky, still sick. "Or maybe your teasing about me having a crush was more of a projection."

"Hardly. Would you rather me put a bullet in your precious sister's head? You can spend the rest of your miserable life knowing it's your fault she joined your parents six feet under."

"Oh, relax," he muttered. "I know you're not gay… or whatever."

Bill's eyes glared at him. "I'm not a fag like you."

Sharply, he retorted, "You just like to blow them?"

Dipper knew he was treading a thin line with that, and the response he received confirmed he'd hit a sore spot.

The cold steel of the pistol pressed against his forehead. A rush of endorphins had his motion sickness from before returning, full-force. Dipper's breath caught. Fear gripped him.

He stared at Bill in uncertainty, trying to decide his next move with precision. He didn't want to die— although terrified that trigger would be pulled, he was having doubts Bill would go through with it, but maybe wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

After a short moment that felt like forever, Bill lowered his pistol with a laugh, tucking it away into his jacket. "I'm not going to shoot you, Pine Tree! Probably. That'd be _ridiculous_ of me, wouldn't it be?" His words left Dipper's mind reeling and his eyes blinking in surprise, meanwhile Bill flopped on the opposite end of the sofa, patting his lap to urge Dipper to join him.

Still stunned, he didn't move, just appeared dumbfounded by everything that'd occurred. "Um," his voice had raised, "no? No, not really. You've been threatening it for the last ten minutes, at least." He'd had reason to believe there was a chance, however minimal, Bill would've shot his brains out.

"Relax, cutie. I'm not going to _actually_ hurt you. Come rest, you look tired as hell." He patted his lap again. "I'm not a _savage_ , sugar."

Swaying from the motion sickness, Dipper remained nearly frozen for another second or two but hesitantly took him up on the offer, laying down on his back with his head on Bill's lap. "Yeah, I forgot that you were nothing but a _gentleman_." According to Bill, that was.

Bill smiled at him. "I am a gentleman. Have I harmed a hair on your little head, cutie?" As if illustrating his track record as a saint, Bill brushed a hand through his hair, fluffing it enough so he could run his fingers over the Big Dipper birthmark and Dipper tensed, but he didn't pull back.

"No, but you do seem to want to murder me and discard my corpse in a dumpster," he countered. "That doesn't scream 'gentleman.'" It fell in line better with "homicidal tendencies."

"Ah, but Pine Tree! I haven't done any of that, so I'm still a gentleman."

"Still a murderer too, so I'm going to take that with a grain of salt," Dipper pointed out.

Bill made a 'tsk' noise. "Relax more. Can't be healthy to always be so untrusting."

"I say one thing to you and you pull a gun on me. My distrust is justified."

"It was a warranted reaction to that 'one thing' you said." His expression had briefly twisted into one of contempt. "I warned you, and you didn't listen kid. I can't help putting some scare into you, and besides, there was no harm done."

" _Relax_ , don't be so _untrusting_. I was merely commenting on your cigarette smoking habits," Dipper replied innocently, poking his bowtie. "But it's nice to know you're just trying to intimidate me. I'm trembling with fear." And… in seriousness, he had been. He'd been ready to fearfully beg for his life a couple minutes ago, but that had passed with Bill's strangely-cheerful reassurance that he wouldn't harm him.

"Don't touch my bowtie, kid. I'll bite you if you keep at it." Bill informed him, "My cigarettes are probably worth more than you are."

"To you? Yeah, I'd say so. We both provide momentary entertainment, but you're a skilled enough smoker to not get burned by the cigarette."

He scowled. "You're a pest, you know that, kid? I don't know why Stan is bothering to keep you around. It's not like you're useful to us now that your folks aren't in office."

He didn't know how long they'd stayed like that, caught in a silence with Bill staring at the sky and Dipper gradually relaxing. Coming down from the flood of adrenaline and already exhausted due to the lack of sleep, the need to rest was catching up to him and making his eyelids start to droop.

"Would Stan care if you killed me?" it was a morbid question but slipped out before he could think about what he was asking, the inquiry a product of the several seconds of panic induced by a pistol against his head.

"He'd kill me," Bill responded. "So, yes. But there are worse things than death, so if I killed you I couldn't complain."

"This is the most messed up, abridged version of _Romeo and Juliet_ that I've ever heard in my life."

A nostalgic smile crossed his lips. "Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Though I guess, it'd be 'Thus with a bullet to my head', but you know, close enough."

Dipper laughed lazily as Bill recited the line, looking sort of dazed. "You're _such_ a nerd, dude." A yawn escaped Dipper and his eyes lidded, the fatigue inching its way into him. "Were you ever Romeo?" it was a gentle question, a low murmur.

"Once, long ago, in fair Verona." That was enough to reduce Dipper to a fit of tiny giggles; Bill's smile hadn't faded, amusement shining in the golden eyes interrupted by a tiny splash of blue. Dipper couldn't remember seeing him so genuinely happy before, but it was a nice sight, much more honest than the stupid smirk. "You would've missed it. It was a play when _I_ went to high school."

"Oh, so in ye olden days. Got it." His voice was slightly slurred as sleep was beginning to lap at him, his blinking growing slower and slower. "Send my deepest condolences to your Juliet."

Bill gently flicked his hand, which startled him into brief consciousness before he was fading again, another yawn tumbling from him. "You are my Juliet, cutie."

"Don't we have to elope first?" he asked idly, too tired to do anything but go along with the joke.

"Well, we're already engaged. Would be easy to swing by a courthouse and sign that marriage certificate."

"You're so weird," he mumbled with a soft laugh, but found himself unable to keep his eyes open any longer. Giving in to the pressure of sleep and letting them close, the world faded around Dipper as sounds and scents muted, melting into oblivion while unconsciousness dragged him under.


	8. Chapter 8

After falling asleep on the balcony sofa, Dipper had woken up on the sectional one inside the living room to the sounds of Stan and Ford preparing bowls of cereal and lightly bickering with each other. Nothing out of the ordinary for them, he thought, it was more like a background noise in the penthouse at this point because it would probably be unusual if they weren't having a mild argument over something ridiculous.

His day had been fairly tame so far: he'd joined the brothers for breakfast, and it wasn't long after that Mabel woke and joined them as well. It had given them a chance to chat— well, it'd primarily been Mabel talking about her upcoming date in the evening with Pacifica and Stan giving questionable dating advice while Ford simply tried to be encouraging. Although still concerned she was internalizing the grief, Dipper was just happy that she was happy for now, but made a mental note to talk to her later.

Later came sooner than he'd expected when Stan and Ford left the penthouse, Stan muttering about a recon mission (specifically, redoing it without "that fuckup") but giving no other details.

He and Mabel were sprawled out on the sofa together, _Why You Ackin' So Cray-Cray?_ playing on the television. It was nice to be alone like this, the penthouse actually feeling welcoming and warm for a change, the perfect atmosphere to have this conversation in since he didn't want to make Mabel uncomfortable with it. After her initial outburst of grief, the one Bill had solely been responsible for, he was concerned about inadvertently triggering another. Dipper didn't want to make this worse for her, just wanted to make sure she was handling it okay despite her joyful reassurances that everything was fine. It really wasn't, their parents were _dead_ , and it was as if she was ignoring the problem.

"Hey Mabel," he started gently and with a hint of a smile, the words drawing her attention away from the television show. And now, although he'd had an entire plan for how this conversation would go, a plan that he'd been working on over the past hour, he felt like he was at a loss. He couldn't remember a single thing he'd wanted to say to her. Why did his mind have to blank at the worst times? Struggling just to get anything out at all, Dipper settled on, "Do you like it here?"

Mabel tipped her head to a side, her questioning eyes on him. "Of course I do!" Her voice was cheery, typical. "Why wouldn't I? It's just… just like home, like Stan wanted."

"Is it?" he asked, unable to help the skepticism bleeding into his question. "Aren't… we kind of missing something?" It was hard to call home when _they_ weren't here and never would be.

"What do you mean?" Mabel asked, but from the shakiness of her voice it was clear she already knew.

He wondered if there was an easy way to do this, a way that wouldn't have Mabel on the verge of falling apart in front of him. With his own hands trembling, he tore his eyes away from Mabel to reach for the remote, bringing the volume much lower to avoid competing with the background noise of the television. Glancing back to her, Dipper gave her a pained look, speechless. Unsure of what to say when everything he conjured felt inadequate, having no idea what the right thing was to say— was there a right thing to say? He was lost to a sea of emotion and frustrating uncertainty.

She averted her gaze from him, quickly wiping at her eyes as she looked back at the TV. "If this isn't our home… we don't have one."

There was a pang in his heart. Ugh, this was going to sound so cliche. So very cliche. But it seemed strangely appropriate, and he sighed, "Right now, our home's with each other, that's it."

"We can't be together forever, Dipper." Her voice was quiet.

"I know," there was an almost mournful undertone, "but we're kind of all we have left." Throughout their lives, it had always been him and Mabel, they were a team and it was no less true without their parents in the picture. They were there for each other during the rough times, whenever they were unsure or scared or just wanted someone, and that would be something they could fall back on forever.

Beyond Mabel, he could see the TV's picture change as the show shifted to the news, a breaking news coverage on updates on the murder investigation, and an image of their parents appeared on the screen. The blood drained from Dipper's face and he didn't even give a thought to how coincidental the timing was, just scrambling to turn it off in hopes Mabel hadn't seen anything since she'd been teetering on the verge of—

And he watched as Mabel crumbled completely, body shaking in quiet sobs. "I c-can't believe... they're gone." She sounded miserable, heartbroken. "It's so _hard_ without them."

Although it felt like his own heart was being crushed under the weight of her grief, watching her breakdown like this, there was some relief that came with it… in a strange way. He remembered the night they arrived at the penthouse: he and Mabel had cried in the guest room together for who knew how long, just letting it out and not knowing how to comfort each other, and then it'd simply stopped. Her lack of grieving had been so frightening to him.

Dipper felt tears in the corners of his own eyes, throat impossibly tight. He felt choked but didn't care and only wanted to be there for Mabel as he leaned over to draw her into a hug, instantly finding comfort in the familiarity of it. Her muted sobs encouraged him to tighten his grip, tears spilling over his cheeks and onto her clothed shoulder.

He could feel her shift in his arms, reciprocating the hug by wrapping tightly around him as she sobbed harder into his flannel shirt. Her tears dampened the fabric while she shook uncontrollably, like she couldn't contain her mourning anymore. "I tried t-to keep going and be strong," she sniffled, another sob bursting from her. "I thought everything would... would feel better if I just held it in."

"Mabel," Dipper murmured but his voice cracked with emotion, "don't do that, okay? It's… it's not good for you." Inhaling shakily, he pulled back to look at her, not daring to let go right now, not when they were both so broken and vulnerable. All he could do was restate a choked, "Please don't do that again. I want to be here for you, I _am_ here for you. I've always been here for you, ever since we were little—"

"I… I didn't really want to," she wiped at her ears, "Bill told me I should stop because everyone would hate me for being a crybaby if they knew."

Dipper froze. It felt like his insides went cold at the mention of Bill, turning to ice slabs and cutting through him. Of course it had been _fucking Bill_ and his shitty Stop idea. And… and Dipper almost couldn't believe it, how heartless he was. He was just a big fucking liar that'd tried to charm him and make him think he was actually halfway decent when he was the most inconsiderate asshole on the planet, incapable of caring about anyone but himself. But... Dipper knew he had to be here for Mabel right now, he could deal with Bill later. He _would_ deal with Bill later.

"You shouldn't have listened to him," it was tense, hurt, and he pulled her back into a hug. "He doesn't know anything about grief or loss because he's—" insensitive, callous, cruel. "It doesn't matter, what does matter is that… that you know you _can_ grieve and take as long as you want and you can talk to me." It was a rambling sentence, shaky with sadness, wobbling on the edge of a sob.

Mabel sniffled again, breaking away from him slightly. "Are you sure?"

Stunned for a second, Dipper nodded quickly, fervor in the motion. "Of course. It's you and me, Mabel." It always had been, they were the Mystery Twins. Wiping the tears from his eyes so he could see her without the water blurring his vision, he said earnestly, "We're going to get through this, I promise."

"Okay." She dived back into the hug, squeezing him firmly. "Love you, Dipper."

Dipper nuzzled her affectionately. "Love you too, Mabel."

As the day went on, they'd gradually recovered from their emotional moment together, parting with the promise that they would seek comfort in one another and grieve at their own pace, and he'd been Mabel's audience as she tried on various outfits and did her makeup. When he'd inquired, Mabel insisted she was okay enough to go on the date despite their earlier conversation, polling him on what he thought Pacifica would like best, though he hadn't the slightest clue. He didn't even know her but from what Mabel had said, she sounded nice enough and probably liked Mabel for Mabel, not for what she was wearing.

Before she'd gone, Dipper had made sure she knew that he'd be a text away if she wanted to ditch for some reason, grief related or not.

Mabel had left for her date and Dipper was reduced to boredom, which he tackled by playing on his phone and cleaning the place to stave off the intrusive thoughts as he waited for someone to return. He didn't dare touch Stan and Ford or Bill's bedrooms; he figured they wouldn't appreciate that, and Dipper didn't have a deathwish.

The only noise was the mindless droning of the television, he'd turned it back on since the news had claimed to have shocking developments in the murder of his parents after a thorough investigation of the mansion he'd used to call home. The 'shocking developments' were nothing more than a sensationalist headline after someone had identified the golden lion was missing from the scene, and they were looking into the possibility of a robbery. That seemed laughable to Dipper with everything he'd been through, even if the fact it was missing did still bother him.

Caught up in wiping the grime from the kitchen counter, he was startled by a sudden vibration and looked to the source of the noise, his phone sitting atop the coffee table was brightening with a new notification. Aside from Mabel flooding him with hourly updates on how her date was going, nobody had contacted him — Stan and Ford knew his number, but had said they would only be reaching out to him in the case of an emergency.

His curiosity was piqued as he picked up the device, head tilting in confusion. It was an unknown number. Swiping the notification, it read:

 **(7:41 PM)** _hey_

Mundane enough, but strange since he wasn't sure who would be texting him at this number when nobody knew it. Tentatively, he typed a reply.

 **(7:41 PM)** Hi?

 **(7:41 PM)** _i saw your grindr profile_

 **(7:41 PM)** _thought you looked hot_

To say Dipper was confused would've been a severe understatement. He hadn't the slightest clue what this stranger was going on about since he didn't have a Grindr account, and Stan had instructed him and Mabel to stop updating their social media, not that he'd been too active to begin with.

 **(7:42 PM)** ?

 **(7:42 PM)** I don't think you have the right number

 **(7:42 PM)** Also, I don't have a grindr profile?

 **(7:42 PM)** _want to meet up?_

Well, that was an easy one: absolutely not. It was puzzling enough to have a random number texting him but to want to meet somewhere… that was reaching new levels of weird, and he wanted nothing to do with this.

 **(7:43 PM)** _you can find me in room 501 at the generic hotel ;)_

 **(7:43 PM)** _i'll give you a good time_

 **(7:43 PM)** Are you a bot or something?

It was his best guess, albeit a shaky one when the Generic Hotel wasn't actually that far from here and room 501 was incredibly specific. Even so, his finger was hovering over the block button, intending on ending this conversation but receiving a message that made him pause:

 **(7:43 PM)** _nah, i just like my men noodly_

And it clicked into place — this wasn't a creepy bot, this was a creepy Bill. His expression went from perplexed to utterly annoyed, and he could've thrown the phone across the room, or even off the balcony. Anything but this.

 **(7:44 PM)** I fucking hate you

 **(7:44 PM)** I regret not instantly blocking you

 **(7:45 PM)** _it's cool cutie, i'd just get another burner phone ;)_

 **(7:45 PM)** Ugh, you're like a cockroach. How did you get this number anyway?

 **(7:46 PM)** _correction: i'm like a cockroach, but better_

 **(7:46 PM)** _and you don't need to know, sugar_

 **(7:46 PM)** Way worse, I can't even stomp on you. Seriously though, was it Stan?

It was the only possibility, though he couldn't imagine why Stan would give it to Bill willingly when he'd been very specific about them staying away from each other. It was a great guideline, but Bill didn't seem to care which just rendered it pointless.

Plus, with what he'd done to Mabel, Bill was the last person Dipper wanted to talk to.

 **(7:47 PM)** _he has a list of everyone's number on the fridge in case we need to contact someone_

 **(7:47 PM)** _i'm surprised you didn't see it_

 **(7:48 PM)** _must be too short_

Dipper didn't know how he'd failed to notice that and wandered into the kitchen, glancing at the refrigerator only to realize he was right. There was a list of phone numbers, each with a signature next to them — his and Mabel's seemed to be in Stan's handwriting. Bill's was signed 'Bill Cipher' in a fancy script with little stars dotting the i's, and sure enough, the number matched the one texting him.

 **(7:49 PM)** _did you fall off a ladder trying to see the numbers?_

 **(7:49 PM)** No, I was just kind of hoping you'd stop texting me

 **(7:50 PM)** _not gonna happen, cutie_

 **(7:50 PM)** Besides, this is such a cheap way of getting my number. So much for being a gentleman and asking

 **(7:50 PM)** _are you going to cry about it?_

 **(7:51 PM)** Since you said you're going to keep harassing me, yeah, I might

 **(7:52 PM)** _well my job ended early and i WAS going to see if you wanted some stupid hipster coffee_

 **(7:52 PM)** _but maybe you don't deserve it_

 **(7:52 PM)** What a lukewarm pity date proposition

Stupid hipster coffee? Dipper didn't even know what that was or why Bill thought he'd want it, much less with him. This was Bill, and he was… a piece of work to say the least.

Dipper didn't think the guy was worth his time, he would never change being a sadistic jerk. Probably best if he didn't engage with him and just waited until Mabel was back from her date, because he was certain she would be better company regardless.

 **(7:53 PM)** _watch it, pine tree. anyway, i'll be there in about ten. you better be ready_

 **(7:53 PM)** Wait what

 **(7:53 PM)** I didn't even give you an answer

 **(7:53 PM)** Spoiler: it was going to be a rejection

 **(7:54 PM)** _you say that now, but we all know you were going to say yes ;)_

( **7:54 PM)** Dude what the heck? No

( **7:56 PM)** Are you actually coming here

( **7:56 PM)** I swear to god

( **7:59 PM)** BILL

Not amused by the lack of reply, Dipper wasn't sure if he'd be showing up or not, but was prepared for him if he did. He wasn't going to put anything past Bill anymore given what he knew about the guy and as much as he didn't even want to see that asshat, he would begrudgingly seize the chance to talk to him alone about all of this. Well, more like yell at him because his "advice" had been completely out of line.

And although he didn't want to admit it, the hour of near-complete silence in the penthouse had been wearing on him, as it was sort of chilling being the only one here. Mabel was usually around but being totally alone… it was new, and sort of haunting.

 **(8:07 PM)** _hey cutie_

 **(8:07 PM)** _come here, i'm outside_

He was already heading for the door of the penthouse since there was no point in staying around here any longer now that he could get out, and as a bonus have a _chat_ with Bill.

Making his way downstairs and out the main door, he was greeted by the sight of a gold Cadillac and a grinning Bill in the driver's seat. "Took you long enough, Pine Tree."

"Yeah, I was having a hard time deciding if it was worse to be in total isolation or trapped with you." Dipper climbed into the passenger side, flashing him the faintest innocent smile — it was forced and seconds away from sliding into a grimace, since he couldn't be around Bill without remembering his earlier anger toward him. "That's a compliment by the way, but you don't fucking deserve it after what you did to Mabel." Any warmth he'd expressed earlier was replaced by a tense coldness. "How could you tell her to _stop_ grieving?"

Confusion crossed Bill's face. "What are you– oh. That. Wow, cutie, you're really out of the loop. That happened ages ago, when she decided to go cry in the middle of the living room like an elephant trumpeting. That is to say, _being very loud about it_. I get you're… adjusting kid, but it really improved the atmosphere when she eased up."

By the time he finished speaking, Dipper wore an expression that seemingly couldn't decide between terror and absolute anger. It… it was horrifying, listening to this sociopath, how he thought it was actually _okay_ to do that to people. "Do you get some sick pleasure out of hurting everyone around you or something? That's all you seem to be able to do with some miniscule amount of competence: manipulate and abuse people for your own selfish gain." Dipper snapped. "It didn't improve the atmosphere, it could've really fucked her up!" And he probably didn't care at all because this was Bill, who couldn't be bothered to express any sort of kindness, just a facade, nothing more than a slick charm that was used for furthering his goals. "The only thing that would improve the atmosphere of the penthouse is if you _just stopped_ too— and by that, I mean stopped showing up."

"Relax, Pine—"

Dipper didn't want to hear it. " _No_ , I'm not going to relax!"

"Will you let me finish for once?"

The earnesty of it caught him off guard. Forcing his fists to unclench and his breathing to become more stable again, Dipper stared at him through a narrowed gaze. "Once," he echoed Bill. "You have _one fucking chance_ to prove to me that you're more than just human garbage." He didn't know why he was bothering, certain Bill would screw this up.

Bill faintly chuckled, looking like he was about to speak, but Dipper cut in before he could:

"Congratulations, you already blew it."

"Look at you, all fired up. Seriously, kid. I didn't… _mean_ to hurt your sister, okay? I have a habit of trying to get things that agitate me to go away and I wasn't up for listening to her wail so early in the morning." Bill sighed, giving Dipper a tired look. "I'm _sorry_ , but I can't change anything I've done in the past."

"No sincere apology is followed by 'but.'"

"I guess you haven't heard many then. How can I make it up to you?"

Dipper didn't want to hear this. It was painful to remember he'd been sort of okay with Bill last night— there'd been hiccups but ultimately he'd thought things were… alright between them, yet in reality it seemed like it'd been another one of Bill's false fronts. What a surprise. "Why do you think there's a way to magically _fix_ this? That's not how life works." Dipper's voice was bitter but had lost its earlier edge, and he was slumping into the passenger door in defeat.

Bill blinked at him, but his expression gave nothing away. "Okay. I'll show you. Would you still like hipster coffee, cutie?"

Dipper didn't know why he thought he deserved the time to prove himself, if there even was anything to prove after what he'd already done. Running a hand through his hair, he muttered a "hang on" and took out his phone, knowing there was still at least one person he could count on.

 **(8:18 PM)** Hi Mabel

 **(8:18 PM)** Is your date still going okay?

 **(8:18 PM)** _It's going great!_

That was a good sign, but he wanted to ask about her since that was who he was truly concerned about. If she was anything less than feeling wonderful, he wasn't going anywhere because he wanted to be available in case Mabel needed him.

 **(8:18 PM)** And you're doing alright too?

 **(8:18 PM)** _Yep! We went on a walk then to a restaurant and now are enjoying entrées!_

 **(8:18 PM)** _And she got up to use the girls room and I got a picture of her butt! :)_

 **(8:19 PM)** _You wanna see it?_

At that, Dipper blinked in alarm, staring at the message for several long moments before he could even think of a suitable reply.

 **(8:19 PM)** Nahhh I'm good

 **(8:19 PM)** You'll have to tell me about it tonight when you're back

 **(8:19 PM)** Your date, not her butt

 **(8:19 PM)** _[attachment sent]_

 **(8:19 PM)** I'm not opening that

 **(8:20 PM)** _It's so cute though!_

 **(8:20 PM)** Still not opening it

 **(8:20 PM)** _You should, it's worth it!_

Dipper exhaled. Although he didn't mind making idle conversation with Mabel, that wasn't the reason he'd initially texted her; he wanted to get her opinion, to know what she thought of Bill since she always had been better with… people stuff than he did. Everyone adored Mabel, including him, and for good reason.

 **(8:20 PM)** So .. I'm kinda sitting in Bill's car?

 **(8:20 PM)** _Kinky!_

 **(8:21 PM)** He asked me if I wanted coffee and I talked to him about that other stuff

 **(8:21 PM)** I guess he apologized but I don't know

 **(8:21 PM)** _Let that man take you out and rock your world!_

Mabel's words giving him pause, Dipper couldn't help but glare at Bill briefly — he didn't deserve this. And he didn't think he _wanted_ to be taken out or have his world rocked, it'd already been rocked enough without Bill's intervention, and his presence generally infused chaos into every situation. While Bill had noticed the glare and was staring at him questioningly, Dipper ignored it and turned back to the text conversation, clarifying:

 **(8:21 PM)** This isn't a date, probably

 **(8:22 PM)** I hope it's not

 **(8:22 PM)** _I want pictures, I like seeing how short you are next to him!_

 **(8:22 PM)** This is Bill, remember? The guy who intentionally told you not to grieve

 **(8:23 PM)** _That's in the past, Dippy bro-bro!_

 **(8:23 PM)** _Learn to forgive!_

 **(8:23 PM)** _And take up coffee opportunities!_

 **(8:23 PM)** Your enthusiasm is worrying again

 **(8:23 PM)** Are you sure you're okay?

 **(8:24 PM)** _Listen here, Dippy._

The message was surprisingly stern for Mabel's standards. And it was perhaps worse than when she'd been excited about the possibility of him and Bill being on okay terms again because damn, she could be scary when she wanted to be.

 **(8:24 PM)** I didn't want you to tone it back this much

 **(8:24 PM)** _You need to get over your obsession with how Bill talked to me a week ago._

 **(8:24 PM)** It's not an obsession, it's seriously fucked up

 **(8:24 PM)** He's fucked up

 **(8:25 PM)** _Yeah, but telling him he did a bad a week ago is like smacking a dog for something he did a year ago_

 **(8:25 PM)** _He won't learn from it_

 **(8:25 PM)** He wouldn't learn from it regardless of my timing

 **(8:25 PM)** _You need to move on and just... see if you can catch him sooner, maybe that'll help him_

 **(8:26 PM)** I think you have too much faith in him

 **(8:26 PM)** _You'll see I'm right :)_

 **(8:26 PM)** _And also butts_

Dipper raised an eyebrow at the last message but tucked his phone away, figuring that was the end of the conversation for now. He looked forward to the opportunity to catch up with Mabel tonight, and she could tell him about how the date went since she already seemed to be dying to spill it to someone.

Glancing to Bill, he was surprised to see he was just sitting there. Continuing to watch. Had Bill been staring at him the whole time?

"Did you get your sister's blessing?"

"She thinks it's a date."

"Nice. So, hipster coffee?" Bill's hand had moved to rest on the gearshift, pushing the lock in so he could move it into reverse. Apparently he was ready and eager to leave, hardly going to give him a chance to back out.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Dipper tried to let go of his frustrations through a long sigh so he could at least honestly tell Mabel that he gave it a shot, or she'd probably be upset with him for not allotting Bill an actual chance at redemption. He sometimes wished he wasn't such a pushover when it came to her. "They would take one look at you and tell you to get out. You don't look nearly hipster enough, no plaid or suspenders or square frames or anything remotely hipster-like." He reached over to poke his perfectly-tied bowtie, knowing that was something Bill seemed to dislike. "You're just a dapper _gentleman_." To use Bill's word, not that he believed it for a second anymore.

Bill's expression darkened. "Watch it, Pine Tree. You have all your fingers now but that can change in a heartbeat." He shooed Dipper's hand away, the vehicle rolling backwards. "But check again, cutie. I'm covered on the suspenders."

"You say that like you're not itching for a chance to tie it back in my hair." Dipper didn't doubt he would either, but he still retracted his hand since he hadn't cared for that the previous time. At the mention of suspenders, he examined Bill for a couple seconds, seeing nothing but a bowtie, dress shirt, and vest — all in black and yellow, of course. What else? The only thing missing was his formal jacket, but a glance at the backseat solved that particular mystery.

Curiously, his head tipped to a side as he kept his eyes on Bill. "Are you?" If he wasn't simply bullshitting him and was wearing suspenders, they weren't immediately visible but… he wanted to know. Dipper didn't wait for a response as he leaned over the console, weaving under Bill's arm to avoid disturbing him while he drove, his fingers deftly starting to undo the buttons on his vest.

"Doll, if you wanted to see me naked you could've just asked before we left." Their vehicle had backed onto the street, and Bill threw the gear into drive, turning the wheel to propel the vehicle to the left.

"Just… shut up and let me—" Dipper blinked and despite his lingering annoyance, in the next moment was bursting into a fit of laughter because to his amusement, Bill _did_ have suspenders on. Black, the suspenders stood out against his yellow dress shirt. And he still really, _really_ wanted to be angry at him, even with what Mabel said, but this… "Oh my _god_." He was caught in a weird place of disbelief yet totally believing it, and he couldn't stop himself from gently snapping one of the straps like he was trying to prove what he was seeing was real.

Bill's eyes were on the road, but his smirk was never ending. "Like what you see, sugar?"

" _Yes_ ," he snorted, chortling. Not bothering to fix the vest, Dipper shifted back into his own seat and finally calmed down from the laughter. "Why are you like this, dude." It wasn't a question. Bill was so weird, so strangely filled with surprises and he didn't even know what to think anymore.

"I like to live life to the fullest, suspenders included." They had blown through a red light, not that he was surprised since Bill was driving, but it was nevertheless concerning.

Dipper ran a hand through his hair, wondering why he bothered with Bill, why he did this when it was painfully obvious that he was never going to get anywhere with this lunatic of a man.

Their vehicle swerved to avoid hitting a pedestrian, an older woman with a walker. They'd missed her only by a margin of about five feet, and Dipper shot Bill a glare once his initial spark of panic had faded. "I know you're all about living life to the fullest, but I'd like to live my fullest life and help everyone else do the same. Quit driving so recklessly." They were everywhere on the road with Bill's ridiculously dangerous swerving to get between vehicles.

"I didn't touch a hair on her head, so it's not reckless, Pine Tree!" Bill hit the gas, cutting in between two vehicles and tailgating the one in front of them. "Take it easy, okay? We'll be there soon."

"If we don't die first," he muttered, body rigid with the constant worry they were about to hit someone and have one hell of a crash considering the speed traffic moved at in Los Santos.

As they grew closer to an exit, the traffic around them died down as the other vehicles moved off the highway. "We're not going to die, cutie. I'll make sure of that."

"Should I text Stan and tell him to pass out little cards that say 'are you grieving? just stop' at our funeral?"

Bill laughed. "Funny. You ever want to be a comedian, Pine Tree? You have some great material."

Dipper hummed for a moment, "Can I tell you a joke?"

"Sure, Pine Tree. Better be just as good as that last one."

"It's actually amazing, but you have to get it." Trying to remember the details so he could deliver it just right, Dipper cleared his throat. "There's these two guys, on opposite sides of a river. The first guy calls to the second, 'How do I get to the other side of the river?' and the other guy shouts back," he paused for the maximum dramatic effect, "'You _are_ on the other side of the river.'" By the time he was done, he was grinning but had managed to hold back his own chuckling.

Bill gave him a blank look. "I said tell a good joke, kid."

"It _was_ good," he insisted with a laugh. "You just didn't get it."

"If you think that was decent, your sense of humor must've gone downhill rapidly."

Although he disagreed, there was no point in fighting him on this and he switched conversational topics with a question, "So… hipster coffee?" Dipper was just as in the dark as he had been several minutes ago, Bill proving to be no help.

Bill chuckled. "I want you to make the most complicated coffee you can. Prove to me you're an art student, Pine Tree."

"That's what this is about? Seriously?" He didn't know if he should be amused or insulted, aware of the stereotypes that hovered over students pursuing degrees in the fine arts but in spite of his irritation, there was a barely-noticeable smile beginning to crack through his exterior as he asked, "This is the best test you could come up with?"

"I have more, cutie, but this is your task for today. You up for it, or are you going to chicken out?" His tone was challenging.

"Today," he repeated, deadpanning. He was tempted to question why this was so important to Bill but held his tongue, settling on, "For all you know, I don't even like coffee."

Bill shrugged. "You're a hipster, you love complicated coffee with enough sugar to make Will and John Kellogg cringe."

Dipper frowned. "That's a stereotype."

"It's _accurate_ , cutie."

"Not necessarily." And why Bill seemed to think he knew him so well, he wasn't sure since they were barely more than strangers to each other. They would've just remained strangers if not for Mabel's encouragement to try again, which he was still uncertain about... but now with Bill speeding down a thankfully-empty street, it wasn't like he could go anywhere.

"Do you like coffee, Hipster Tree?"

The frown shifted into a scowl as he glanced away. "...Maybe."

He could hear Bill chuckle. "What a walking stereotype."

"Like you're any better, Nice Guy." The thought made him shudder a little, a queasy memory coming to mind.

But he let it go after a moment, noticing Bill didn't seem to get what he'd been going for when he responded, "I _am_ a nice guy. I'm taking you out for coffee, then we can hang around the city while we enjoy it."

Finally looking at him again, Dipper commented, "I thought a _coffee date_ would be too gay for your tastes."

"Hey, _I_ never called it a date, sugar. I'm not a fag like you are."

"Silly me, I forgot how common it was to go out for coffee as two completely heterosexual dudes with a platonic relationship." Though, he wasn't quite heterosexual, something Bill even was aware of, and as for Bill… well, he'd apparently had sexual encounters with men and women, but insisted he wasn't gay, so he didn't really know.

"We can be heterosexual life partners, cutie. No homofagginess involved." Bill beamed at him. "We're already a step in the right direction with being engaged."

Great, they were back to that. Dipper stole a downward glance at his hand and frowned as he remembered he was still wearing Bill's ring, not that he had any other idea of what to do with it since Bill had shown no interest in getting it back. He'd encouraged him to keep it, leaving Dipper in a bit of a complicated position but it wasn't the time to worry about that. "Don't you need the matching ring," what that was, he didn't know, "if we're going to be heterosexual life partners?" It was difficult to keep a straight face saying that — there was nothing heterosexual about either of them, and he was equally puzzled about being _life partners_ with Bill. What the hell that meant, he didn't know.

A laugh escaped him. "Don't worry about that, cutie. I already have another custom one in the works. We'll be matching in no time."

"Wait, what?" That… was concerning, and his stomach twisted at the new information, but Bill didn't say anything more. Dipper figured this was worth prompting him about. "Uh, a few more details would be good." It wasn't a great time to be vague about what he meant by that.

Bill shrugged, sparing him a brief glance. "Nah, there's not much more to say. I have another ring being studded as we speak."

"Like, a copy of this one?" Dipper questioned, raising his hand to look at the gold band and glittering rubies. It was pretty, but represented nothing more than a fake engagement, apparently between… heterosexual life partners.

"It's similar to it, yes. It's not an exact match."

Dipper's eyes narrowed as they drifted back to Bill, but all he could see was that stupid smirk on his face that didn't tell him anything useful, as was the norm. "Okay," he said slowly. "And you're sure you don't want your ring back?" Perhaps then he wouldn't have to make an almost-copy of it.

He shook his head. "No, cutie. It's your ring."

"Right." Still concerning, but he knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with further questions since Bill seemed set on keeping this shrouded in mystique. He guessed he'd just have to wait and see what solidified their somehow heterosexual life partnership, even if none of that was accurate. They weren't heterosexual, and life partners was a definite stretch when he wouldn't even call them friends; they weren't going to be around each other forever because with a pinch of luck, Stan would be letting him and Mabel leave in a few weeks.

Moving on, he wondered aloud, "Where are we going for coffee?" They'd been driving for a decent amount of time and the sun was nearly dipped below the horizon, but they were still cruising in Los Santos, reaching the downtown sector of the city. "I thought we'd be going to Cool Beans since that's the hipster hangout."

Oh. Hopefully, Bill wouldn't question why he knew that. Familiarity with the preferred coffee shops just kind of came with the territory of being an art student.

"I was planning on going to Hit 'n' Run," Bill said. "Easier to grab coffee through a drive thru. Besides, weren't you _adamant_ about how you _weren't_ a hipster, cutie?"

"Hey, you're the one with suspenders on." He leaned over to give them another snap to accentuate his point. "If anybody's a hipster, it's you."

He could see him roll his eyes, their car sharply turning as Bill avoided colliding with another vehicle. "I know you're in denial of your hipsterness, but I'm not the art student who likes coffee here."

Recovering from the jarring turn, Dipper steadied himself and gave Bill another warning look. The driving had been peaceful for a while, but now they were back to rushing down the road, zig-zagging. Dipper said, "You do realize there's a handy pedal next to the gas, right? That's called the brake, and you should use it because your driving is horrendous and I don't know how we're not dead." That wasn't even an exaggeration, Bill was more dangerous behind the wheel than anyone he'd ever met and seemed to be completely ignoring most traffic laws, yet somehow they were unharmed.

"What do you expect?" Bill's voice was a laugh. "I was taught by a Russian cab driver!" He made a point of blasting the horn at another vehicle, who as far as Dipper could tell, didn't do anything wrong to begin with.

"Who, _Rasputin_?"

"Actually, his name was Stalin."

"Wow." He leaned against the passenger door, a hand covering his face. But he peeked through his fingers to mutter, "I guess that explains why you're _Russian_ to get everywhere."

The vehicle veered to the left, cutting off someone behind them. "Yeah, I don't like—"

"Don't do it."

"— _Stalin_."

An embellished sigh tumbled from him. Bill was impossible. Before he could say anything more, there was a jolting _CRASH_ , and he squealed in surprise, flailing forward for a second before he was able to regain his balance. Looking around in worry, Dipper could easily see where their vehicle had smacked into another, the other car curb parked. It didn't stop Bill from plowing on despite the damage, Dipper mentally noting this was all kinds of horrible even though there'd been nobody in the vehicle. "Huh," he heard him mention casually, "that outta leave a _Marx_."

Dipper groaned and flopped back against the passenger seat, eyes closing in frustration. He hated Bill. So damn much. "Did you do that intentionally?" he asked, an accusatory inflection in his voice since he had a suspicion Bill only wanted to make the pun at the risk of doing something very illegal and paying expensive damages.

"Maybe." He could _hear_ the smirk in his voice, didn't even have to have his eyes open to picture it either. " _We_ did that intentionally."

He _was_ annoyed with Bill and wanted him to know that, yet he still couldn't help but indulge him just the tiniest bit with a grumble of, "You're giving me so many red flags right now." Flatly, he added, "But really, your driving is almost as bad as you are."

Bill chuckled. "Y'know what they say in Russia: seize the means of production, moy milyy."

Although he had doubts, he opened his eyes to glance at him and ask, "You're not actually Russian though, are you?"

"Oh, cutie, Russians don't have money. So no."

Dipper gawked at him. "Am I really hearing this."

"Have _you_ seen a wealthy Russian? No? That's what I thought."

Aaand that was the end of his involvement in this conversation. He didn't need to tell Bill that he was being obtuse and terrible, his shit-eating grin said it all: he already knew. Dipper was pretty sure he no longer wanted any part in it and was genuinely considering silence for the rest of the ride since Bill was the one who'd dragged him out in the first place.

After a moment, Bill inquired, "Would you like a more serious answer?"

He didn't bother to look at him, not even peering away from the passenger's window. "No. Don't talk to me."

"I'm from Florida." He ignored his request. Typical.

But despite his attempts to remain uninvolved, his eyebrow raised slightly, the curiosity that'd followed him around for his entire life returning at the most inopportune times. "Where in Florida?"

Bill gave a little hum. "Why don't you guess, and I'll tell you if you're correct?"

"Vice City."

"Try again, cutie. I'm not that generic."

"You are one-of-a-kind," he agreed, "thank god." He didn't think he could take any more than the one Bill — it felt like being around him drained his sanity. Continuing to his next guess, he was going down the line of populous cities. "Miami?"

Their car rolled into the parking lot, hitting the curb in the process (luckily not too roughly), and Dipper made a huffy noise at the lack of proper precaution being taken. "Ding ding ding! We have a winner!"

At his answer, Dipper couldn't stop himself from laughing and managed to ask, "You're kidding, right? You should've just mentioned that off the bat, everything would've made so much more sense." It would have immediately explained why Bill was... all over the place. "So you're from Florida… Are you sure you're not secretly ninety and can't make up your mind on who to vote for?"

"I vote for whoever seems like they'd be more fun at a party, since I usually end up inviting them to one. Assuming they're down for some under-the-table business."

"Bet you had a love-hate relationship with Nixon back in your day." Although he knew Bill wasn't old enough to have been alive, it amused him.

"Hey! Everyone knows how much of a scandal Watergate was! Not. Anyway, what do ya want kid? We're here. Make it complicated." They had pulled up to the screen, Bill's window rolling down.

Dipper silently apologized to whoever had to take this order, and the one who had to make it. Perhaps they would see he was trapped against his will and being forced to do this, for no other reason than to prove he was a pretentious art student. Dipper's eyebrows furrowed, why was he going along with this nonsense again? He bet Mabel didn't have to put up with this on her date.

"Fine," he muttered, knowing it would only be harder if he put up a fight. After all, this was Bill, so once he'd gotten a chance to think for a couple seconds, he said, "I guess a skinny iced caramel mocha with extra whipped topping and caramel and chocolate drizzle, but with light ice."

"You call yourself an art student? It doesn't even have sprinkles."

"Then get it with sprinkles." He didn't care, he was drinking it either way since he'd endured the drive, miraculously survived it despite the danger Bill invited their way; he might as well get something good out of the experience, even if that was an inadequate reward for what he'd put up with.

Bill scowled at him. " _I'm_ not the art student here. It's not my job to make a complicated drink."

"Alright, alright. Have an extra dose of espresso and milk added, but the milk needs to be non-fat soy milk, and the syrups should be sugar-free. Is _that_ complicated enough for you?"

"Sure, cutie." Dipper could hear him mutter under his breath before he relayed the order to the screen. "And throw een a Russiano vith three extra shots ov espresso."

To his horror, his tone mimicked that of an incredibly poor Russian accent as he ordered what was presumably an Americano, and Dipper shot Bill a death glare in an attempt to get him to stop that. "What are you _doing_?" he hissed.

"Just orderving cofve, da."

Annoyed, Dipper combed his fingers through his hair but could see he wasn't going to get anywhere with Bill. "Instead of putting extra espresso in it, order another one. The drink is already shots of espresso diluted with water." And if he instead only got one drink with the _three_ extra shots, he was probably going to be wired by the time he was finished drinking it.

"Nyet. Don't tell me what to do, Hipster Tree." He was relieved he wasn't speaking with Putin anymore, at least. Peeking a glance at the screen with their orders, he saw it was a mile long and again internally apologized to the poor souls tasked with making that.

Once the employee confirmed their order was correct on the screen, Dipper could hear them attempt to say the total… but Bill was already slamming the gas, their car shooting forth to the window.

"Is this the reason nobody else will go out for coffee with you?" And doubled as why he had to resort to taking Dipper.

There was a pause on Bill's end. "Nyet, thev—" There he went again with the accent.

"Stop that right now. My brain cells are dying just listening to you."

"Zachem?" Bill was smirking.

Although he had no idea what he said, he turned away and muttered, "You're giving me a headache."

The golden asshole of Miami snickered. "I can make you feel better, cutie. All ya gotta do is spread those pretty legs of yours." The cashier opened the window as Bill spoke, but he didn't seem fazed as he exchanged a twenty for the coffees. "Hey cutie, yours came out looking like a hot mess. Must take after you."

"I'm a hot mess and you love it." Snatching the coffee from him, Dipper gave it a couple quick stirs, wondering what the hot mess of a drink would taste like. Well, more like cold mess since it was iced—

"...Nyet." The hesitance surprised Dipper and he watched as Bill took a sip of the Americano, grimacing slightly. Probably burned his stupid mouth.

"How's your Russiano?" Dipper couldn't do it with a straight face as he remembered Bill switching into the bad accent halfway through ordering the drinks. "God, I hate you. I can't believe you did that." Miami people. Luckily, Bill had given the employees more than enough for the drinks _and_ tipped since he'd noticed he didn't bother retrieving the change.

The poor accent making a return, he said, "Delicious, you vant to try sum?"

"I have regrets." He definitely regretted starting the accent thing over again.

"Try your coffee, sugar." Oh thank god it was over. "Tell me if I need to shoot the cashier."

Dipper's eyes went wide, and he shook his head because although he didn't think Bill would seriously threaten him anymore, he wasn't quite so sure with other people. Looking over the drink, he held it up to examine the light brown liquid finished with a generous amount of whipped topping and sprinkles, the latter courtesy of Bill. "It's not the cashier's fault this drink is going to give me diabetes."

"You ordered it, cutie. If you get diabetes I'll take you to the hospital but some doctors might die."

"Alright," he exhaled, "so clearly that's not an option. You need to be kinder to your fellow doctors." Dipper brought the drink to his lips and took a sip, greeted by the familiar flavor of sickeningly sweet caramel and chocolate with a dash of coffee. It wasn't the strongest drink, unlike what Bill was chugging down. Ultimately, it was just… very sweet, but nonetheless tasty with its abundance of caramel and chocolate.

Bill chuckled. "Those suckers haven't done shit for me."

"Maybe because you need a psychologist, not a general practitioner."

"Nah, my last psychologist tried to get too personal."

"Too personal?" His eyebrows shot up, and he took another drink before continuing, "I didn't know you had any sense of _too personal_." Bill had been kissing his face, smacking his ass, as well as making sexual advances toward him, and they'd been acquainted for just over a week.

Bill shrugged. "Yeah, I had to put him down," upon seeing Dipper's look of horror, he must've mistaken that for confusion since he went on with euphemisms, "euthanize him, fill the guy with San Andreas quiet pills, terminate his contract with life, you know, pop his clo—"

"I _knew_ what you meant the first time!"

"It was a sweet sound, like a death melody. Music to my ears."

Dipper gave Bill a distressed look, hoping he was just being morbid again rather than honest about that, but regardless he didn't want to hear any more. Nervously, his fingertips tapped on the side of the plastic cup and he drank from it again, burying his attention in the coffee instead as he tried to unhear everything in the last ten seconds.

"Don't look so mortified, cutie." Bill took a sip of his coffee. "He deserved it. Hey, is your coffee really that sweet?"

"On a scale from you to me, it is definitely as sweet as me."

"I'd like a taste."

"Of me or the coffee?"

"Yes."

Whatever getting a taste of him entailed, he wasn't going to participate. "You'll have to settle for the coffee."

Bill smiled at him. "Come on, sugar. It tastes best from the lips."

"I'd just bite you." ...Oh. Damn. Bill was probably into that.

"Do it, please."

Sigh.

But interestingly, he wasn't convinced he'd ever hear the word 'please' from Bill Cipher again, and he looked at him in sheer curiosity, wishing he could determine how badly he wanted this or if he was simply joking. In the end, it didn't make a difference since he wasn't going to get a kiss, and he offered the coffee by placing it in the cupholder between them, "This isn't your once a year day," a snarky _Pajama Game_ reference, "so just the coffee for now."

Bill's smile dropped in an instant and was replaced with a frighteningly blank expression. His words were steely, "I'm going to drive this car over a bridge and kill us both."

"Do you want to at least try the coffee first?" Dipper asked with a tilt of his head. "It's delicious, so if you're not going to drink it, let me finish it before you kill us."

"I don't know. I have a strong urge to take us both out immediately. You like semis, kid?" Bill took the iced coffee anyway, taking a sip through the straw. "Good stars, this is like a sugary supernova in my mouth."

"Ha," it sounded breathless, frightened even to his own ears, "don't do that. That'd be… violent." Death by semi— they'd both be unrecognizably mangled. Recalling the conversation leading up to this, he went on, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but honestly, I think I'd rather kiss you than die like that."

Bill's eyes brightened with an intrigued, dangerous glimmer. "So you're saying… if I drove this car toward a semi, you'd kiss me to get me to stop?"

Dipper swallowed, still fidgeting anxiously, "I'm not sure when I'd have time for that between the screaming and panic."

"I hope you're ready to pucker up then, cutie." Bill's foot lingered dangerously close to the gas.

" _Bill_ ," he growled, tinged with fear because while he didn't _think_ Bill would do it… every time, this weirdo managed to surprise him with something he could never possibly predict in a million years so he wasn't taking any chances.

His body shook in silent laughter, hand reaching to swap drinks with his Americano. "Relax, cutie. I'm not going to drive into a fucking semi."

"I don't know with you!" Dipper snapped, frustrated as he picked up his own coffee, gulping a few more sips as if that would quell the anxious feelings from a moment ago. "One second you're talking about murder and _threatening_ me when I have no idea if you'll go through with it, and then you're laughing." He didn't get it, and it was so very stressful.

"Sugar," Bill's voice softened, "you need to relax, okay? I told you before I wasn't going to hurt you, didn't I?" A pause. "If I didn't, I meant to."

"Oh, right." Dipper sarcastically continued, "you'll have to remind me — was that before or after you put a bullet five inches from my head?"

"Ah, but it didn't actually touch you! I kept my word, cutie."

"That was intentional? And here I was under the impression that blue spot in your eye messed with your aim."

Bill slammed on the brakes, and Dipper jolted forward, almost spilling the remainder of his coffee. "Don't talk about my eye, kid." Dipper still found it fascinating, just as he had the first night at the penthouse. It was interesting to look at, a change of pace from his otherwise-amber eyes and sort of striking in a way.

For a couple long seconds, Dipper fell silent while he examined the eye in question, Bill staring straight ahead at the road, posture stiff. The eyelid of the bicolored one twitched, like he knew it was being watched. Finally, he spoke, "I don't _see_ why it bothers you." At least Bill could have a taste of his own medicine with the poorly-timed pun.

His eyes darkened and he stomped on the gas, surging forward. Their vehicle's speed was creeping up, going from fifty-five, to seventy, inching to ninety in what felt like only a few moments. It didn't help that Bill was swerving between the lines, going from one lane to another. The fishtailing was getting _horrendous_ , worse each time, like they were going to spin out any second. " _Dude_!" Dipper squealed, fear flooding him. "What are you doing?!" Did he _want_ them to die? Fingers scraping uselessly for purchase against the dashboard as he tried to find something to cling to, his heart was beating out of control. Feeling as if he was going to be sick from the sudden starting and stopping and now the increasing speed, he was forced to squeeze his eyes shut and just hope death wasn't soaring toward them at sixty miles per hour.

Bill's laugh was bitter and short. "I'm driving, _cutie_. Can't _you_ _see_ that?" This reaction was extreme if he was referencing his earlier pun. "I told you not to talk about my eye, Pine Tree. I shouldn't _have_ to elaborate."

Dipper didn't care about his eye, not right now, far more concerned with meeting an early demise. "Fucking _slow down_!" he snapped, voice cracking. Eyes still tightly closed, he didn't have to see to know the world was rushing around them as they propelled down the road at what had to be one hundred miles per hour. The Cadillac's engine whined from the speed.

"Fucking _fine_." It wasn't noticeable at first, but Bill must have taken his foot off the gas since their vehicle lost a significant amount of speed, convincing Dipper to crack an eye open to notice they were no longer swerving and drove safely in one lane. The fish-tailing had subsided, the car wasn't weaving around like a ship rocking on waves, and a sigh of relief escaped him.

Since they were no longer barreling toward an early grave, the shaking subsided after a few minutes of silence between them, said silence ended by a tentative question: "Why do you have such an issue with it? It's… it's nice. Your eye, I mean."

"I hate it." The bitterness hadn't faded from his voice. "It's a blight in a sea of gold. It _ruined_ them and you keep bringing attention to that… that _stain_." His hands tightened around the steering wheel, though the vehicle remained steady.

"You bring attention to my stain," Dipper reminded him through a mumble. "But I'm not sure why you think of it like that. Yours is actually… I don't know, um, appealing?" Not just a freakish birthmark, as his was.

Bill scoffed. "It's different. Your stain is interesting, unique, it _means_ something. Mine's just an eye that had a pigment stroke and now I'm fucked unless I cut it out."

Although he tried so, _so hard_ to keep a poker face through that, he couldn't manage to silence the small laugh at Bill's wording. "A pigment stroke," he repeated, finding he kind of liked that. "Can I tell you another joke?"

"Is it going to make me want to drive into another vehicle at ninety miles per hour?"

Shifting uneasily, Dipper hoped not but decided he might as well tell it anyway. "Alright so, three nuns are sitting on a bench, enjoying a day in the park. And this flasher comes by, opens his trench coat, and two of the nuns have a stroke." He held back a laugh. "The third one couldn't reach."

He watched Bill also fail to maintain a stoneface, breaking into laughter and Dipper grinned, glad Bill had found some amusement in the joke. "You need to stay off the internet, kid. It's ruining your innocence."

"Wanted me to save that for our wedding night, huh?"

"I thought that was what your virginity's for."

Dipper felt his cheeks warm slightly but didn't respond to that, back to thinking about Bill's eye, the eye he seemed to have a deeply-ingrained hate for that he couldn't really understand. There was nothing _wrong_ with it. "Can I tell you something gay?" Not a joke this time, but a compliment.

Bill glanced at him. "Is this when you confess your undying love to me, and how you want to run away and elope? Or will it make me want to drive into another vehicle?"

"Uh," he thought about the options provided, "...yes?" Probably the latter, but he wasn't about to tell Bill that.

"Christ."

"Your eye is pretty." It was a soft confession. Wincing in anticipation, he already knew Bill likely didn't want to hear that and braced himself for a potentially-endangering reaction.

He watched as he visibly tensed, a growl in his throat. "I told you to not talk about that. I want to _cut it out and burn it_ , not have this impurity be complimented."

After a second, the car's speed was picking up again, and Dipper tensed, their surroundings going by faster and faster until they were reaching speeds he definitely wasn't comfortable with as they passed vehicles in quick succession. The engine whining was getting loud again while Bill was dodging traffic with a practiced albeit anxiety-inducing grace, and all Dipper could do was stare in absolute horror as they swerved abruptly, almost side-swiping into a semi, eliciting a shrill gasp from him that silenced the plea to go slower. They'd been so close that if the window had been down, he could've reached out and touched it with no issue but the somehow the only thing he could think about was how the rush of adrenaline had him shaking. Yet Bill—

Bill wasn't slowing down, didn't even seem to notice or care, meanwhile Dipper felt like he was dying, felt the familiar rise of panic in him, building much too fast to be healthy and oh god he was probably going to have a heart attack if the inevitable collision didn't get to them first. " _Holy shit_! Stop for— for a _second_ ," Dipper's pleading voice wavered wildly, strained from how impossibly _cramped_ his chest seemed, like he couldn't even breathe. He'd gone from thinking they were going to die to being okay, then back to panicking in a matter of minutes. He was stiff with fear, knuckles white where they clutched at the dashboard, and he wasn't sure his heart could take this.

"Sure, cutie." Bill finally listened and hit the brakes, causing their vehicle to skid on the road. He turned the tires to put them on the shoulder.

Although at a stop, he fought to get his breathing under control and clutched at his chest since it felt beyond constricted, like he couldn't possibly get enough oxygen through his system and was going to pass out. Doubling over in pain, he huffed and puffed raggedly as he attempted to recollect himself.

Bill took a sip of his coffee. "Having fun over there, sugar? It's like I took your breath away with my mad driving skills."

Dipper didn't have the energy to deal with his shit and turned away with disinterest, too busy fighting down the still-bubbling panic. It was like his body lacked an appropriately-timed off switch for anxiety after he'd started having those horrible nightmares, but he tried to clear the thoughts away in favor of focusing on simply breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.


	9. Chapter 9

"Shall I take that as a yes?"

It was several minutes before he could even uncurl, much less respond. Resting his weight against the door, Dipper stared at Bill owlishly with a frown bringing his lips downwards. He didn't even know what to say to him after that but was rethinking future outings with Bill, unless somebody else was going to drive them. "Y'know," he sighed gently, letting out a breath of air that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and glanced away, "I thought… the night my parents died would be the last near-death experience I'd have for a while." Obviously he couldn't have been more wrong.

Bill shook his head. "That was hardly a near death experience, cutie. You're perfectly safe."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "I just don't feel like it when I'm with you." Eye contact was nonexistent, as his preference was to stare out the window at the many stars glittering above them in a dusty dark blue sky. Stargazing was significantly nicer when they weren't moving too fast for comfort while their car fishtailed uncontrollably down the roads of Los Santos, nearly hitting a semi truck in the process.

"You should." Bill followed his gaze to the sky. "They're nice, aren't they?"

Ignoring his comment about the stars, frustration flared within Dipper. "I _should_? You've gone out of your way to make me panic and think we're going to die." It wasn't even the first of his offenses: he'd had him over the balcony railing a few times, he'd shot the sofa he laid on, he'd put a pistol to his head.

"Yes, _but_ no harm has come upon you once." While technically true in the physical sense, that didn't make it any better since it messed with his mental state, forcing him into total panics. "You need to _relax,_ cutie, and enjoy the stars." And with that he exited the vehicle, leaving Dipper to his thoughts.

Enjoying the stars seemed impossible when he was with Bill, of all people, because he could barely avoid having an anxiety attack for an hour, relaxing was out of the question. Finishing off the last of his coffee, he fell into silence for a while as his gaze flicked from the stars to the busy roads of Los Santos, wishing he was home instead of here. Well, whatever home was now, but a thought from earlier occurred to him: home was with Mabel. Hands still shaking, he texted her:

 **(9:29 PM)** Are you back yet?

 **(9:29 PM)** _Yes! :)_

 **(9:30 PM)** You sound happy. I'm guessing everything went okay?

 **(9:30 PM)** _It's still happening! ;)_

 **(9:30 PM)** _I'm glad you went out with Bill tonight!_

 **(9:30 PM)** _I get some alone time with Pacifica~_

 **(9:31 PM)** Not going to think about that too hard and just assume you're snuggling and watching tv

 **(9:31 PM)** Being with Bill has been a wreck, mostly

 **(9:31 PM)** _Oh, we're getting cozy on the couch alright! ;) ;)_

 **(9:31 PM)** _Your date didn't go too well?_

 **(9:32 PM)** Still isn't a date, but yeah that's fair to say

 **(9:32 PM)** "Too well" is giving it too much credit actually

 **(9:32 PM)** _Sounds like a bad date to me!_

 **(9:32 PM)** _You should try to make it better!_

Dipper looked out the window of the vehicle and trained his eyes on the dim outline of Bill, who was leaning back on his hands, staring at the sky. He had no interest in talking to that man.

 **(9:33 PM)** He's sitting in the ditch like a weirdo

 **(9:33 PM)** _You should talk to him!_

 **(9:34 PM)** I don't know

 **(9:34 PM)** _Are you going to be okay without me? We can talk later or if you want we can call_

 **(9:35 PM)** Yeah, I'll be okay

 **(9:35 PM)** _Text/call if you need anything, Dipdop! :)_

 **(9:35 PM)** I will. We can talk later

 **(9:35 PM)** _See you later Dippy!_

Several minutes passed since he'd put down his phone, trying to recollect his scattered thoughts but arriving at the conclusion that he was ready to return to the penthouse. Dipper could no longer see Bill in the dark– he'd moved outside the boundary of the headlights. If he squinted, he thought he could see a faint orange glow. Undoubtedly a cigarette.

Though he still didn't want to talk to him, he didn't have much choice if he wanted to get going. Unbuckling his seatbelt, Dipper left the car and soon spotted Bill sitting in the grass, smoking confirmed. As he approached, he noted that it was strange because he seemed to only do it when stressed but… he had no idea what would've shaken him tonight.

Dipper claimed a spot next to him, sitting with his legs folded, quiet for a couple moments as he tried to think of something to say. It felt like the words were lost in translation between them half the time, resulting in an outcome that neither saw coming. Bill seemed to be waiting for him to speak, but all Dipper could do was notice the blue spot in his golden eyes, the same splotch that'd caused most of tonight's mess in the first place. No matter what Bill told him, he still thought it was nice, for lack of a better word.

And besides, he didn't really want to think about liking Bill's eyes — that was dancing on the edge of strange, but then again he was an art student, he could appreciate odd beauty without it being weird.

Bill must have noticed him looking because he grimaced and beckoned to the sky. "Stars are up there, cherry."

Dipper was a little sheepish about being called out but was relieved that Bill didn't seem upset this time. He was tempted to reply that he could see them just fine, staring for a second longer and actually enjoying the way he could pick out tiny sparks of light flickering in the depths of amber and blue, but what he was doing caught up with him and he averted his gaze. He shifted so he was turned away, facing the street, but leaned his weight against Bill. "Your eyes are still nice."

"You're not helping the urge to cut it out right now," Bill quietly muttered. "You need to stop being such a fucking fairy fag. It's not good for your health."

That was harsher than he'd thought it'd be, and he peered at him for a moment. "For someone who wanted a kiss like thirty minutes ago, you've really turned off the charm."

Bill scowled. "You turned off the charm when you decided I was the root of all your trauma and then fucked around with my eye."

"Literally none of that happened."

"Yes, it _did_. Stop that."

Bristling at the false accusations but overall curious, he wondered aloud, "Stop _what_?"

"Acting like _that_."

Brushing a hand through his hair, Dipper truthfully didn't know what he was doing, or how he could stop that. Whatever _that_ was. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"You keep looking at my eye, and you're acting like being with me is the end of the world. If you don't want to hang out with me, fucking _don't_." Something in Bill's voice cracked. He sounded nearly wrecked.

Startled, Dipper hadn't the faintest idea where any of that came from but felt his annoyance drain exceedingly fast. "I'm… I'm not looking at you, remember?" Dipper had been facing the other way, eyes trained on the road for the near entirety of their conversation. "And um, I guess I could've gone without almost hitting a semi, but being with you is… is always something."

Bill didn't seem bothered by this new revelation. "You have peripherals," he pressed sadly. "You can see it through those. Watching it, 'admiring' it, but knowing it's an ugly blotch that can only be eradicated by killing the eye entirely."

"It's not," he argued hotly despite hearing Bill sigh, "and I'd never forgive you if you got rid of it. It's..." unique, interesting, "probably the best thing about you." The tiny blue splotch didn't bring him any harm or threaten him.

"Couldn't you preserve it in a glass jar if you liked it so much?"

"It wouldn't be part of you anymore, so I _could_ but then it'd just be some eye in a jar. Also, a little creepy." When he shuddered, he wasn't sure if it was at the thought or if it was due to the light breeze rolling in, a cooler night fully enveloping Los Santos. Even his plaid shirt and jeans weren't enough to keep him completely warm as he sat leaning against Bill in the ditch.

Bill went silent for a moment. "Your obsession with it is a little creepy."

"In a way," he started, "you're the one with the obsession." The one overly concerned with it, constantly thinking about it, the paranoia that surrounded anybody looking at it… the insecurity, which he could genuinely relate to since he had a birthmark he wasn't quite proud of. "But I'll take that as you don't want me to compliment it anymore..?"

"I don't _want_ it," he told him. "I'd rather shoot my brains out than have it be looked at."

Dipper wished he could look but didn't dare turn around, so he settled on the familiar warning, "You don't wanna shoot yourself, that'll hurt like hell." The last time he'd heard it, it was Bill telling him not to jump.

"Then I'll fucking stab my eye out."

"Not better," he muttered. Perhaps worse, the imagery it evoked was disturbing.

"You clearly haven't been eye fucked before."

Dipper craned his neck to look at Bill, raising an eyebrow. "Then what do you call those looks you give me?"

Bill was looking back at him. "Premeditated murder."

"You're sure taking your sweet time," he noted as he turned away again, "after all the chances you've had. And we're on the side of the road at night, why not make a move?"

"Don't. Tempt. Me." The way he shifted against him, he could feel Bill turning his head away. "Why are you so frustrating? You frequently make me want to drive off a cliff."

" _I'm_ frustrating," he repeated, a bitter laugh tumbling from him at the irony. "You think _I'm frustrating_?" Bill was the epitome of frustrating, but Dipper didn't comment and instead just pulled his knees to his chest to preserve his body heat while he shook his head. "Tell you what, I'll stop talking to you and then you won't have to worry about it ever again, or drive off any cliffs."

That seemed to shut him up for a moment. "No." It was quiet, and Dipper could hardly hear him. "I just want you to stop looking at my eye."

"I'm not even looking at _you_ , man. Chill out." He wasn't sure why Bill was so caught up on this when he had barely seen him for the last ten minutes, attention having been on the road and stars. "Do you need to blindfold me or something?"

There was a pause, and Dipper felt a cold shiver of fear as he sensed where this was going. "Yes. Let me get the trunk open."

In hindsight, probably shouldn't have suggested that but he still let out a breathless, "Okay." Wasn't like he could retract the offer now, but he was kicking himself for being so stupid.

"Wow, you'd actually let me? Or is this one of those things where you'd flail around like a noodle on a plate?"

"Uh," he rubbed the back of his neck, "I guess I wouldn't fight you too hard." He'd been the one to suggest it and now was just digging himself deeper if Bill was serious about this. "I mean… whatever makes you comfortable, right?" His sole condition was that Bill _also_ had to behave, if he was about to be blindfolded.

"I'm not going to blindfold you, kid. Well, not yet at least." Dipper exhaled in relief. Being blindfolded on the side of a road in Los Santos—the city of crime—was pushing it, especially after the stunt with the semi. His trust in Bill had been rattled. "But, we are leaving. This field sucks for stargazing. Come on, cutie." Bill moved to get up, Dipper scrambling to join him. He was glad they would be getting out of here.

"Wait," he said once he'd straightened up and brushed himself off. With Bill paused in his tracks and looking at him questioningly, Dipper took the opportunity to rebutton his vest, the same buttons he'd undone earlier in a search for suspenders. "If you went back to the penthouse like that, Stan would probably think we left to get it on in your car."

Bill faintly chuckled. "Don't act like that's a bad thing, cutie."

Dipper wasn't sure which one was being referred to. "Getting it on in your car or Stan thinking that? He was really specific about not… doing anything with each other."

"Yes." Once the buttons were finished, Bill headed toward his car, tossing the Americano cup into the grass. Dipper watched the motion, instantly annoyed by the lack of consideration for the environment, so caught up that he almost didn't hear what Bill said: "Stan doesn't care, kid. Trust me."

Dipper's fingers twitched as the cup was carelessly discarded, picking it up on his way to the passenger seat with the intention of throwing it away (properly) later, along with the other coffee cup that remained in the cupholder.

"Pine Tree, don't put that trash in my car." Bill had gotten in the driver's seat, turning his vehicle on. "Throw it back in the grass where it belongs."

Ignoring the request, Dipper joined him in the vehicle, getting comfortable in the passenger seat but making no move to resume Bill's practice of littering. "You can't tell me what to do, I'm an art student and also a hipster apparently." Complete with sticking his tongue out at Bill.

"I can kick you out of my car and leave you stranded on the side of the road. Your choice, _art student_."

With raised eyebrows, Dipper knew he was pushing it as he reclined in the seat, kicking his legs up to put them on the dashboard. The engine was killed after a second, Bill moving from the driver's seat and going to the other side of the vehicle, throwing open the passenger door.

"Hi, _cutie_ ," Dipper greeted sarcastically, still painfully aware he was treading a dangerous line but not sure what Bill would do about it. Hopefully, he wouldn't pull a gun on him again. Anything else would be an improvement.

But he hadn't thought Bill would grab him by his arm and yank him through the door, eliciting a squeal of surprise and pain from Dipper. Bill released him onto the ground, Dipper's body making contact with the cold pavement. "Cosmos, I didn't think your noodle arm would snap because I touched it."

Slightly dazed since he hadn't been expecting the sudden show of force (much less expecting Bill to actually cause him pain), he shook himself out of it and got back to his feet, rubbing at where his arm was sore — merely touching it, in Bill's words, was a bit of an understatement when he'd _pulled_ him from the car. But despite the scuffle, he stubbornly held on to the cup, unwilling to let him make a bigger mess of an already-polluted city.

"You're not putting that trash in my car," Bill told him. "If you're so insistent on keeping it, you can walk. Good luck finding your way back without getting hit."

"Better than being with you," he said sourly, brushing past Bill to begin walking with a hand continuing to clutch his injured arm. Although he still didn't want to litter, it was more about the principle of it, the determination to show he wasn't going to be pushed around by Bill and was capable of navigating the city of his own. He'd lived here his entire life, he could do this.

The next thing he knew, Bill's car was beside him, the smug asshole driving slowly to match his pace. Bill waved at him, rolling the window down.

Giving him a hollow glance, Dipper turned on his heels and started heading the opposite direction, didn't care that it'd be going the wrong way, but the car started reversing, catching up to his side once more. "Cutie, don't get all huffy with me."

Oh, he would be huffy with Bill as long as he damn well pleased for everything that'd happened tonight. But he was at his wit's end and stopped to ask, "What are you doing, anyway? Just go find another field to stargaze in and leave me alone." Dipper had thought that was the point, to make him struggle for a way back to the penthouse, and there was no way he wouldn't rise to the occasion given the circumstances.

Bill's dark eyes were locked onto him, his head leaning slightly to a side. "I was going to drive around the city instead and wanted to see if you'd tag along, instead of pout on a shoulder. It's stunning at night."

Dipper didn't think he'd be able to enjoy the views of the evening, not with Bill. And speaking of shoulders, his ached after being manhandled and colliding with the pavement. "Hah, no. Still not convinced that being ran over wouldn't be a nicer fate."

He watched Bill's expression twist into something similar to anger but couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion. "Come on, stop being such a fucking white knight. It's not my fault you _insisted_ on bringing garbage into my car."

Tersely, he replied, "If you wanted me to accompany you, you shouldn't have pulled me out of your car."

"You shouldn't have disregarded my request to leave the trash in the grass." Now he could clearly identify the building anger, Bill looking like he wanted to get out and attack him again. Some gentleman he was, the reassurances from before almost humorous in retrospect.

"Just trying to lessen your karmic debt." Dipper rolled his eyes and continued walking, this time in the correct direction, uninterested in carrying on the conversation when it didn't seem to be getting them anywhere.

"If I wanted that lessened, I'd kill myself here and now."

Dipper gave a bitter reminder, "You almost _did_ kill us." The incident with the semi wasn't lost on him.

"If we were almost killed, there'd be a hell of a lot more damage to the car. Now, get in before I fucking make you by tying you to the seat. I have rope in the trunk." Any traces of patience in Bill's voice had disappeared.

"You can give the threats a rest, I know you won't make me." Maybe a bold claim to make to an unpredictable mess of a man, but he didn't think Bill could or would physically _force_ him into the car — if he got back in, it would be through his own decision.

Bill didn't budge to get out of his car and 'make him get in' like he threatened. As expected. "Would you like me to call Stan? I'm sure Big Daddy would appreciate knowing how reckless _you're_ being right now."

"What, are you going to tattle on your _heterosexual life partner_?" The words were venomous.

"If that gets your sorry ass in the car, yes. Don't make me fucking come out there." Bill didn't wait for him to respond or react, already starting to get out of the vehicle. "Or I can walk back with you. You'll probably end up getting a piggyback ride on me with how noodly and weak you are."

"Wow, if I didn't know better I'd say you actually cared a bit." Good thing he _did_ know better.

"Yeah, if I wanted you dead on the shoulder I'd just run you over myself." Dipper thought about how Bill had already injured him, might as well finish the job. "Now get in or I'll get the fucking rope. You have until I count to three. One."

He didn't stop walking along the side of the road, didn't even look at Bill though he knew he was starting his stupid countdown.

"Two."

"Fuck off."

Dipper could hear the trunk pop open, and finally spared him a glance, just in time to see Bill reaching in to pull out a coil of rope. "Fine, be like that. Three."

Gaze flicking between Bill and the rope, he stared in disbelief. With Bill, he knew he shouldn't be surprised, but he had a strange way of keeping him on his toes between making true threats and just talking out of his ass. It was hard to tell which were which, sometimes. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"No. Get in the fucking car, Pine Tree." Bill stepped toward him, extending the rope.

Dipper flinched, trying to back up. "Don't touch me," he snarled. "Haven't you already done enough damage tonight?" His shoulder was still aching, the throb only becoming slightly less noticeable but he recognized that rope wouldn't do it good.

Bill scoffed. "You wouldn't have been hurt if you _listened_ to me for once."

That little urge to punch him returned, but he knew better than to act on it: Bill would catch his fist since there was nothing to divert his attention, and his hands were occupied as it was with one holding a cup and the other holding an injury. "You promised you weren't going to hurt me. Why should I listen to you?" It'd been the only stability in their fucked up relationship, Bill's reassurance that he wouldn't harm him, and even that was gone.

"I didn't _want_ to hurt you." Bill's voice was filled with annoyance. "I just wanted you to listen to me. I didn't think you'd flop to the ground like a fish out of water."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have roughly grabbed me and thrown me out? Giving me bruises isn't going to earn my respect _or_ my obedience." But whether that was what Bill wanted was questionable, not that he cared to give it any thought right now.

Bill glowered at him, a hand running over the fabric of the rope idly. "What do you want from me, kid? It's in the past. Your arm's going to be fine."

It would, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell right now. Pavement wasn't the kindest landing. "That's everything with you. You do something fucked up and brush it off because it was _in the past_." But Dipper had his fill of standing on the side of the road, done with this — it wasn't getting them anywhere. "So Buffalo Bill, are you going to tie me up or can I continue walking back?"

"Get in the car, kid, or I'll tie you up and throw you in the trunk." The rope had been pulled into a loop, which he twirled between his fingers.

Uninterested in wasting any more time with this argument and having doubts Bill would go through with it despite everything, Dipper begrudgingly got in the car, stiffly taking his place in the passenger seat but keeping his eyes forward.

"That's what I thought," Bill spoke as he joined him in the car shortly after, tossing the rope in the backseat. "Throw out the cup, kid."

"Or what, you'll throw _me_ out again? Can you at least hurt the other shoulder this time to spread out the injuries a little?"

"Nah, I'll just run you over. I'll tell Stan you committed suicide."

Sounding agitated, Dipper said, "I'm throwing it away in a trash can, not a ditch."

"Why can't you just _throw it back out the window_ and save _everyone_ some fucking time?"

"Because I _try_ to be a decent person, but I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that." Dipper was sick of this, regretting his decision to get back in and wishing he would've walked. "Do you realize _you_ wasted our time? None of _your_ time would have been wasted if you just relaxed for once and didn't pull me out of the car."

"My time was wasted the second you decided you were holier than thou and needed to pick my cup up from the grass."

He wanted to smack his forehead in frustration. "That's what this is about?" He couldn't _believe_ how childish Bill was. "If you want to be a better person, then be one."

"Don't tell me what to do, Pine Boy."

Dipper spared him a scathing look. "Wasn't going to waste my breath. You won't change."

"I don't _need_ to change, unlike you. Everything about you is just a desperate attempt of fitting in because you don't belong anywhere. Especially now that you can't hide behind your _mommy_ and _daddy_."

When combined with the storm of grief that he was still working through, that comment had cut deep, and it felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Words didn't come to him. He just… didn't know what to do except look away and try to ignore this— try to hang on to himself and avoid falling apart until he could be alone in the penthouse with his thoughts or spill them to Mabel, but he realized he didn't want to bring her mood down after her wonderful date. Dipper's hand ghosted over the door handle as he considered what Bill had said, did he really not fit in anywhere?

It didn't feel like it. Particularly compared to his sister, who was a social chameleon and just so damn likable no matter what she did and then there was _him_ and he was…

Dipper didn't want to think about that. His fingers twitched against the metal.

Bill had gone silent, having thrown the car back into drive but no longer speeding like his life depended on it, for once taking the limit into consideration. Dipper watched as the city lights passed them by, bleeding together into a heap of multi-colored blobs, and he rubbed his eyes to clear the blurriness.

"I didn't mean that," Bill finally spoke after an eternity. "You're not a black sheep, kid. Stan and Ford really like you, and I know Wendy and Dr. Soos think you're cool."

No.

No, no, no.

Bill wasn't going to win his forgiveness like that, by trying a feeble attempt at backpedaling. It didn't matter that it was _in the past_ , the damage was done.

Dipper silently shook his head, because while he… did appreciate that, maybe, he didn't think it meant anything coming from Bill, the guy who would lie whenever it convenienced him. He knew better than to blindly accept that. A long sigh escaped him and he mumbled defeatedly, "You can't just do that, y'know? And expect things to be fine between us." At every turn, when they were starting to be okay again, it felt like something happened to tear them apart.

Giving him a pained look, he saw Bill wore an expression of confusion. "I don't see why they wouldn't be, Pine Tree."

"You really don't know," it wasn't accustory, just sad. "You almost killed us and brushed it off like it wasn't a big deal. You freaked out on me, dragged me out of your car," his shoulder still stung from the impact, "and left me to walk. Then, basically demanded I get back in your car. If that wasn't enough, you… you told me I didn't—" he stopped, feeling a little choked. "It's stressful. _You're_ stressful."

"Life's stressful, cutie."

"Yeah, the trick is to surround yourself with people who make it better, not ten times worse." He couldn't deal with this on top of everything else that was making his life a wreck.

Bill's fingers tapped the wheel. "So. You're stating everything tonight is my fault. You said 'you did this' about six times."

That was the part he'd heard, out of everything he said? Dipper wondered if he was listening to the important issues at hand or if he was just tallying their mistakes and comparing them, as if trying to find who was the worse of the two. Dipper knew he could've been more eloquent about the way he'd phrased it, but those things _had been_ Bill's doing. Even so, he conceded, "Fine. What was my fault tonight?"

"You fucked with my bowtie, my eye, and brought garbage into my car. Then blatantly disobeyed my request to remove it from the vehicle, instead opting to put your feet on my dashboard."

And he was half-tempted to do that again, maybe would have if he didn't feel so drained, so tired of this, knowing it would only cause further problems. "I didn't fuck with your eye, I told you it was nice." His reminder was cold. "But as for the rest—"

"My eye would be nicer if it was one color: gold."

And his life would be nicer if he had two parents, alive, and he wasn't sitting in a car with Bill Cipher. But they both were out of luck. "It still doesn't justify what you did."

"I _barely_ touched your arm. It's not my fault you're so delicate."

He hadn't been specifically referring to that, though he didn't have the energy to bother correcting him and say he was talking about the rest as well. "You're trying to turn the blame on me," he pointed out but didn't know why he'd expected any better.

"No, I'm blaming that squishy skin of yours."

Dipper fell silent, knowing whatever he said would go unheard if Bill was convinced he didn't have to answer to his actions. It wasn't worth the fight when all it'd do is end in insurmountable frustration, so he allowed silence to compete with the tension between them. Dipper averted his gaze to watch the scenery again, counting the lampposts and feeling envious of the pedestrians since they walked with a happy obliviousness, wishing he could switch places with them. Palm trees, bright lights, dirty sidewalks, all was the same in Los Santos, and that felt weird after his life had changed so drastically.

Out of the corner of his eye Dipper could see Bill glancing at him. "What do you want me to do, Pine Tree? Leave you alone? It's..." For a moment, Bill seemed to be struggling for words. Amazing, but he didn't care. " _Incredibly_ difficult for me to not do anything you deem 'stressful', it seems."

"I know." Dipper swallowed a sigh, fed up with going in circles. "Maybe… maybe we should just stay away from each other."

"You think that'd work, cutie?" his laugh was quiet, almost sad.

Dipper curled in on himself, resting against the passenger door with a wince from the trickle of pain in his shoulder. "I don't think we're…" good for each other, but he shook the thought away, trying to offer something less bleak. "Dangerous situations are… stressful. Being threatened, getting hurt, all that is anxiety-inducing," it'd gotten harder to control after his parents' deaths, "and.. I get that it's difficult, so it's probably best if we…" he made a vague motion with his hands, "take Stan's advice."

"Take Stan's advice." When Bill repeated his words back, it sounded hollow, almost emotionless in nature. "Okay, Pine Tree. Whatever you want."

The implication didn't go unnoticed and he inquired, "What do you want?"

Bill's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "That doesn't matter, cutie. How… are you doing now?"

Dipper blinked because that… was different. Bill caring about how he was doing? They must've drove into another dimension somewhere along the line. A bit cautiously, he answered, "Well, I feel kind of cheated because every time I tell you I _don't_ want to know about something, you just flat out say it anyway and now when I actually want your opinion, you won't give it to me."

"I'm going to stay away from you like _you_ want, what more do you want from me?" There was no hiding the frustration in each word.

Frowning other's agitation, Dipper said, "I want you to tell me what you're thinking about."

His voice had grown quiet. "I don't like the thought of staying away. I find you… intriguing."

" _Entertaining_ ," Dipper corrected bitterly, recalling what Bill told him. "Like I'm some object to you."

"There's no one that challenges me like you do, it's refreshing… a change of pace that I don't look forward to losing. You may be entertaining to some degree, but you're more than an object." Bill lightly shrugged. "I get it. You can't _handle_ me. No one can."

"Well, there's nothing special about me," Dipper murmured in response to Bill's claim that nobody else could handle him either, sounding sort of resigned since he recalled the countless situations they'd found themselves in, and he'd been forced to face through-the-roof anxiety as a result. The common denominator in every single one of those instances was him and Bill.

Bill kept his eyes on the road, humming softly. "Maybe not to you. But I guess it doesn't matter, you made it pretty clear you want nothing to do with me, Pine Tree."

Dipper thought for a moment, chewing his bottom lip. "Can you tell me something true?" There was a fragile waver in the request; Dipper just wanted something genuine from him, not manipulated or made fun of or _that smirk_ for once.

That seemed to strike a nerve in him. "I did. You're so set on me being a liar that you didn't listen to me." His voice grew quieter, dropping to a vulnerable murmur. "When I told you I found you fascinating, that wasn't a lie. You're one of the most interesting people I've met. There is... no one else in this world that is as real as you are. Stan and Ford are lifeless shadows when it comes to me because they hardly react, they put up with my shit and that's that. You don't."

It was probably one of the more earnest things Bill had ever said to him — not through the words, but how he'd said them, and Dipper was at a loss, unsure if he should be putting up his guard because Bill did have an extensive record of manipulating. Or if he should believe it. A risk he'd have to take, he supposed. "Okay," he said slowly, still trying to process most of that because it was… more than he'd thought he'd be getting out of Bill, not just tonight but ever. Figuring out what to say to that was an uphill battle when he'd never been good at this sort of thing. "Okay, uh… that— that was a lot." His hand nervously carded through his hair as he tried to sort his thoughts. "So you don't want to. Stay away, I mean."

"I don't. But it doesn't matter. You need to do what _you're_ comfortable with, and that clearly isn't me."

"I wasn't really planning on doing you— sorry, bad time, huh? Um." Dipper coughed, nervous. Equally unafraid, but this was an unfamiliar situation that he had no idea how to navigate. "Look, most of tonight was alright… it was just, some things." Although hesitant, the tiniest of smiles touched his lips. "If we could cut down on the risky behavior by like, fifty percent, and the Russian accent by about one hundred, I think it'd be okay."

Bill spared him a glance. "From what you've said, it sounds like most of tonight has been a shitshow for ya, kid." Everything with Bill was a shitshow so it seemed relative. "Besides, I can't… _half_ my impulsive behavior." He spared him a sideways look. "And vou can't stop moy asent." "

There was that shitty Russian accent again. "Oh god, it's like it's evolving to get _worse_." Leaning back, Dipper sighed and told him, "I just don't want to constantly be on the verge of a panic attack when we're together, or always worried that you'll freak out over something like…" he glanced down at the hand that still held the coffee cup, "an empty cup."

"I _hate_ trash in the car, kid. Just the thought is driving me fucking crazy."

"What about my cup?" Dipper asked, eyes focusing on the other empty coffee cup, the one his sugary abomination had come in.

At that, Bill shrugged. "That wasn't in the grass where it belonged, so technically it's not yet trash."

Something clicked, and he blurted out, "You're the reason the penthouse is ultra sterile." This revelation veered away from their discussion, but he hadn't been able to hold his tongue.

"Those heathens don't clean. Have you _seen_ Stan's room? It's like a hurricane came through there."

"Uh… no. I haven't gone into anyone's bedroom, I don't even have my own bedroom anymore." But that wasn't particularly important right now, nor did he mind since Mabel and Pacifica were probably—

Nope.

He frowned and tried to stay on track. "You didn't have to have trash in here. I would've walked back." Giving it some thought, there was an almost-touching element to this, how Bill seemed to be willing to deal with the trash in favor of having him in the vehicle. "I don't mind getting rid of it, but can we not litter in the process?"

He seemed baffled by this. "Why not? Better out there, away from me, than in my car filthying it up."

Addressing the actual issue, he replied, "It's irresponsible, bad for the environment."

"No one gives two shits about the environment anymore, cutie."

" _I_ do." It was a habit that'd been instilled in him from a young age. Environmental consciousness was— _had been_ , he mentally corrected—important in his family, and he wasn't going to give that up just because his parents weren't around anymore.

"You should stop."

With a shake of his head, he replied, "Can't stop, won't stop." It was a good cause, and he didn't see why he should break a positive habit over keeping supposed trash out of Bill's car.

"Nothing you do will make a _dipper_ ance, cutie."

"So you _do_ know my name," he stated since he'd been starting to wonder with the terms of endearment, even if 'Dipper' was more of a nickname. In regards to the cringe-worthy pun, "That's lame, and you suck. Don't litter."

"A Pineboy once said can't stop, won't stop."

"Sucking or littering?"

Bill shot him a glare. "You're an avocado sucker and you should stop being a tree humper."

"I'm an _avocado sucker_?" Dipper questioned, not even sure what that meant. He'd understood the tree humper part, though had been under the impression the phrase was 'tree _hugger_.' But considering who he was talking to, he guessed it made sense.

"Yeah, you're a fucking avocado sucker. Get over it."

Dipper didn't quite get the intent. "Still don't know what that means."

Bill smirked. "San Andreas hipster can't figure it out. Surprising."

Oh. He was making fun of his home state. Slightly irate, Dipper remarked, "Your home state may as well list 'meth heads' as the official animal, and rename itself to Heaven's Waiting Room with how many old people there are."

"The slowness of the old people make life hell down there."

"That's rich," he commented bitingly, recalling the various suicidal thoughts expressed earlier. "Acting like your life wouldn't be hell regardless of where you are."

Bill shrugged. "My life is hell."

"You're always giving me shit for being miserable," for _grieving_ over his parents, "look at you."

"I'd love to look at me," Bill dryly said. "I look good. Better than you, at least."

"Why? Can't stand seeing someone with just one eye color?" The snappish remark was out before he could bite it back.

"Fuck you, shit eye."

Dipper smiled a little, "Yeah, I kind of had that coming. I guess that means you don't think my eyes are striking and _beautiful_?" He exaggeratedly batted his lashes at Bill, who was scowling, an expression of irritation etched onto his face.

"I should take scissors to those lashes. Snip, snip."

"Mm," he hummed, "but then I wouldn't look so pretty and feminine, and you wouldn't want to fuck me into the sofa. On second thought, go ahead."

"I'd love to. We'll break that sofa in." He winked at him, and Dipper instantly looked away, preferring to watch the road illuminated only by half-working street lamps roll by them, the gutters filthy with trash and leaves. They weren't on a main road anymore as they neared a more residential area, and Dipper wondered where Bill was taking them since they weren't anywhere close to the penthouse.

"I _meant_ taking a scissors to my lashes," Dipper clarified rigidly, flushing. "And don't try to bullshit me, I'm sure you've had plenty of escapades on that sofa." From what Bill said about his previous sexual experiences, the implication was clear: there'd been a lot.

"Not _that_ sofa. The sofa before, yes. Stan had to replace it after a threesome on it."

A threesome, he thought with mild amusement, one Bill was undoubtedly a participant in. "So, how did it feel disappointing two people at once?" Dipper snarkily asked.

"How does it feel to disappoint everyone you meet?" Bill retorted in a similar tone. "How did your parents not murder you in your sleep? They had power, they could've easily gotten away with it."

Dipper shrugged. "I guess they were just better at handling me than you are." And more importantly, he'd never been like this with them. He'd been respectful, always aiming to be a good son to them since they'd been good parents. The attitude was reserved for Bill.

He could see Bill's jaw clench, like he wanted to say something but was restraining himself. Impressive. "Sure they were." The car had turned into the parking lot of a convenience store.

"You're struggling," Dipper observed.

"Cutie, if I spoke my mind right now you'd be sobbing in your hands. Don't push me." He grabbed the rope in the backseat before he killed the engine, getting out of the car. Dipper, puzzled and worried by this, moved to exit the vehicle after him but was pulled back into his seat by a fastened seat belt, reawakening a previously dulled pain in his shoulder. Oops. Quickly releasing it, he left the car to trail after Bill with a yelp to wait for him.

Struggling to catch up, his eyes swept over Bill. "What's the rope for...?" A concerned question.

"Oh, cutie. You'll find out in a moment." Frown deepening at the non-explanation, that didn't clarify anything and all he could hope for was that they weren't about to rob the place. Bill paused by the door of the store, glancing back at Dipper, who was briefly stopping by a trash can since there was an opportunity to throw away the coffee cups — and not litter while doing so. "Hurry up, cutie. I know it's hard with those short legs of yours."

"Yeah, my short legs are really inconvenient. Remember what you were saying earlier, about how noodly and weak I am?" Arriving at his side, Dipper met his gaze, a subtle smirk on his lips. "I think I'm ready to cash in on that piggyback ride." Would be a bit hard to rob a convenience store with a Dipper on his back.

"Will you let me tie your wrists together?" Bill tugged the rope in his hands. "Only your wrists."

Caught off guard by the request, Dipper blinked.

Shifting from foot to foot, he cleared his throat to ask, "If I let you tie my wrists, I'll get the piggyback ride?"

He nodded. "I was going to use this on the cashier, but then you gave me the _perfect_ opportunity to use it on you, sugar."

Of course. He'd _known_ Bill was going to do something demented with the rope, but at least this would be better than using it on the poor cashier. Giving a nod of agreement, he said, "Just don't hurt my shoulder."

"Doll, your shoulder will be fine. Think you can hop on me, or are you too short?" His tone was almost teasing. Dipper huffed and all but tackled Bill for that, ignoring the twinge of discomfort as he got situated on his back, leaning forward to hold his wrists together obediently while he waited for them to be tied. While not entirely happy about it, it was still better than the cashier.

Bill chuckled softly, looping the rope around Dipper's hands and securely tying him. He gave it a tug for good measure, making sure the binding stayed in place and Dipper gave it a test, attempting to dislodge himself from the rope to no avail. "You look good restrained, cutie."

Dipper hummed, resting his head atop Bill's comfortably. "Flattering, but I always look good."

"If you think so." Bill stepped into the store, a small ding resounding just barely above his head. It was strange to be this tall. They paused for a moment before Bill continued, and he tried to figure out what they were doing here.

"Would you like to tell me differently?" Dipper asked idly, then realized where they were headed: the coffee display, complete with a coffee machine, cups, sugars and other drink accessories, and a mirror for those early mornings. A groan escaped him. "Are you getting more coffee?"

Beneath him, he could feel the rumble of Bill's chuckle. "No. You want to guess again, sugar?" He had stopped by the coffee mugs.

Dipper's attention turned to the small mirror situated next to the coffee machine, he could see their reflections in it and his tied wrists crossed in front of Bill's chest. "You came over here to stare at yourself?"

"What?" Bill paused. "I have a mirror in the car for that when I'm driving, but that's not the point. You seem _determined_ to be a plant fucker, so we're going green. Pick a mug, cutie."

Surprise flooded him, and his eyebrows shot up because he wasn't sure how to comprehend what he was hearing. Dipper was suspended in a moment of disbelief until it caught up. "Wait, seriously?" his tone was laced with shock. Glancing over the coffee mugs and then at Bill through the mirror, the corners of Dipper's lips twitched up and he was—

Well, he was unbelievably grateful, and _relieved_. Not just because he didn't care to litter but because there was the smallest glimmer of hope that maybe— _maybe_ Bill actually was taking some responsibility. And all Dipper could do was exist with the dopiest, most earnest expression of appreciation as he peered at him in their reflections.

Bill shifted in his place, selecting a yellow and black mug as he stared at the Dipper in the mirror. "Don't make this _gay_ ," he muttered. "You going to pick one, cutie? It's on me."

"What?" He blinked, turning his attention to the mugs as his eyes scanned the array of colors, searching for just the right one. "Why.. would it be gay?"

"You're looking at me like religious nuts look at Jesus. And don't question me: I know what that looks like, I have first hand experience."

He hadn't realized he'd been doing that but chuckled a little at the metaphor. "Are you, Bill Cipher, actually telling me you don't get off on that? I thought it'd be a nice stroke to your ego." Eyes landing on a blue mug, he shifted a bit to use his bound wrists in an attempt to maneuver Bill's arm toward it.

Bill didn't miss his attempt at controlling his arm. "Cutie, just ask next time." He grabbed the mug in his free hand. "As nice as it is, it makes it incredibly gay when you're giving me the 'fuck me in the ass right now' eyes. Please, doll, _we're going green_ , not going slick from precum."

Dipper raised an eyebrow. "I think it's only gay if you're enticed by my bedroom eyes." It hadn't been the look he was going for, had been completely oblivious to it, but it remained amusing.

Bill made his way to the cashier, Dipper shifting his weight to get more comfortable atop him. "It's pretty fucking faggy on your end, cutie." As Bill set the mugs down, the cashier that'd been distracted by reading a magazine looked up and stared in confusion at the sight in front of him.

"Will… this be all, sir?" he asked hesitantly, ringing up the items. Although the question was probably for Bill, the cashier's eyes were on Dipper, seemingly trying to make sense of the bound wrists and piggyback ride.

"Yeah. What're you looking at?" Dipper could just imagine Bill's smirk, "Do I have something on my back?"

Dipper couldn't muffle his snicker and glanced over in time to watch the cashier's face go ashen, so he said, "That was a joke, man. He's just being a jackass with a warped sense of humor."

The cashier seemed too nervous to care. "W-would you like a receipt?"

"Nope, I'm good. Keep the change for yourself, kid. I'm pretty sure you're a vampire with how pale your face is right now."

His tied wrists thumped against Bill's stomach, not too roughly but enough to get his attention. Dipper wasn't impressed, there was no reason to pick on the cashier that already looked like he was going to have an early heart attack from this interaction.

Bill softly grunted from the weak impact. "Oh, fuck you. I'll throw these mugs in the ocean and let your precious fish die because of it."

"I know you're buying mugs, and I'm thankful for that, but you're really not increasing your chances that I'll agree to using them in the future." A second not-quite coffee date, that was.

"What, you don't want to go _green_ with me, cutie? When combined, our cup colors are." He nodded to the blue and yellow coffee mugs.

"Oh my god." If he could've pinched the bridge of his nose in mock exasperation, he would've. "You… you are really something else, dude."

Bill laughed. "I'm the best, Pine Tree. You, on the other hand… are still pretty fucking gay."

"I get a pass, remember? You're my _cruuusshh_." It sounded so exaggerated, so drawn out and whiny that it was painfully clear he was being sarcastic. "I've apparently been pining after you for five years, so I'll be as gay as I want."

The corner of Bill's mouth twitched as he collected the paid mugs and exited the building. "Were you this gay around your parents?" As he spoke, he set the mugs on the hood of his car to work on freeing his hands. In a couple skilled motions, he unraveled the knot that kept Dipper's wrists together, releasing him from the bonds. "There ya go, sugar."

"Thanks, that was fun." Sliding down, Dipper went to the passenger side of the vehicle once he'd snatched the mugs from the hood of the vehicle, thinking back to his previous question. "Ha, no. But they probably wanted me to be, they were… super into the whole being open and hip thing," after one especially embarrassing incident, "and it was stifling." He wasn't complaining, though it had been hard to explore himself with them constantly hovering over his shoulder.

Bill chuckled softly. "Of course it was fun, Pine Tree. Stick around me and I'll show you an even better time." He moved to get into the driver's side of the vehicle, throwing the rope into the backseat again. "Mine would've dragged me into the woods and shot me if I was as flamboyant as you are."

That might explain a few things, he internally noted, but hoped to avoid making assumptions and jumping to conclusions about a home life he knew nothing about. "Well, be as flamboyant as you want," he said as he got comfortable in the seat and glanced to Bill, "because I don't think they can hurt you anymore."

Bill looked like he was bristling slightly, starting the vehicle. "Sorry, not gay. Don't need to be flamboyant like you are, kid."

"Being flamboyant isn't inherently gay. They're unrelated." But Dipper wasn't going to press the issue and moved on. "My parents actively _encouraged_ me to be flamboyant, it was… ironic since they were always trying to show they were supportive." Dipper's throat was tightening, an early warning that he perhaps shouldn't go down this path if he didn't want to get emotional, if he wanted to steer clear of the inevitable and crushing grief, and he fought to keep his mind off of it. "Are we going back to the penthouse now?"

"Yeah. Unless there's something else you wanted to do?"

Nothing came to mind. "No, not really." Besides, his eyelids were growing heavy after the events of the evening— it'd been one hell of a night, a rollercoaster of emotion. With a yawn, he mused aloud, "Mabel's probably done with her date by now." Upon returning, he imagined he'd be getting the play-by-play of what happened with Pacifica.

The car reversed, pulling out of the parking spot, and Bill changed the gear into drive. "Oh, most definitely. I imagine she had one hell of a time with her new girlfriend."

"Mm-hmm, it's nice," he exhaled lazily, then clarified, "that she's okay enough for that kind of stuff, you know?" Mabel's resilience was outstanding, he deeply admired her for it. Gaze shifting to Bill, he asked, "Jealous? I mean, she was on an actual date tonight and you were stuck getting coffee with me." As far as he knew, Bill didn't have a significant other but wasn't entirely sure, either. It would be odd to make sexual advances at him while in a relationship but…

Then again, this was Bill. And he never knew with that guy.

"I liked the coffee," Bill said. "It's better than being stuck on some traditional date with a girl. I bet they went to the movies, and had popcorn and soda, and Mini Northwest walked home with her and gave her a smooch on our doorstep." He made a face as he pulled the car out of the lot.

Dipper wasn't sure how Bill knew Pacifica's last name. Had Mabel mentioned it when she'd talked to them? Assuming that was what happened, he held his tongue and thought about the comparison of their evenings.

A more mundane outing than what they'd experienced, that was almost certain. Personally, he'd take the movie date over what they'd been through in a span of a few hours. "You know why Pacifica probably kissed her?" Dipper started. "Because Mabel wouldn't have ruined the evening with a really bad Russian accent."

Bill looked thoughtful, but it soon faded. "I made your evening _better_. It's not my fault you're ungrateful." Despite his words, his tone was light.

Although he'd been in a near-dreamy state of just watching the streets of Los Santos pass them, that 'ungrateful' comment had him fully alert again— the tone wasn't the usual cruelty he'd expect from Bill, but it still pinched a nerve. "Oh?" his voice had raised a little, the change subtle but signaling a mix of hurt and curiosity.

Bill glanced at him, eyes surprisingly bright in the darkness of the vehicle. "I'm not wrong, kid. I try to give you a good night and all I get is harassed, beaten down for my exemplary Russian impression."

Dipper tensed and didn't know if he was being serious or not, at a loss as to how to respond. It was one of the rare occasions where he realized he couldn't read Bill, hadn't a clue what he might be thinking. "Um, I'm… I'm sorry?" it was a hesitant statement, Dipper deciding he'd rather play it safe than bet on Bill's ability to take a joke. "My offer to stay away from each other still stands."

The gleam in his eyes faded, replaced by confusion. "What? Why?" More pressingly, "I thought I made it clear earlier I don't want to stay away." He also made it clear that his mind and moods shifted exceedingly fast, so saying that was next to worthless for Dipper. "What's with this… this sudden change of mind? I thought we were having a relatively good time."

"Yeah, I am," a tired smile touched his lips. "Just didn't know if you were serious. I've been called ungrateful before, and…" he trailed off, "well, it doesn't matter. I'm having a good time."

"Are you?"

It wasn't the first time he'd noticed an underlying hint of insecurity, so he earnestly replied, "Yes. Why wouldn't I?" Maybe not the best door to open, he could think of a handful of reasons why tonight had been a mess, but.. Bill was _trying_ , that much was clear, and he appreciated his efforts because it was progress, a step in the right direction.

Bill tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. "You apologized for… something, I don't understand why, then offered to do the Stan Method. I dislike that. I don't want to stay away from you. Do you?" By this point, Dipper couldn't tell if Bill was talking to him or not, mind working overtime to keep up with this conversation. "Of course you don't," he had continued, "why else would you tell me to not fuck off despite your 'hatred' of me? You're clearly obsessed with me because of that neverending crush."

"Are you trying to make me change my mind?" Dipper asked, less than seriously, then looked away. "If you are, it's not working. You're stuck with the ungrateful, virgin avocado sucker."

"Who has a _raging_ crush on me.."

Dipper laughed softly but gave a, "No." There was a severe lack of a raging crush, so that wasn't quite possible. "You're not my type."

Bill hummed, "Do you even have a type, cutie?"

"Musical stars," he joked.

That shut Bill up, which was fine because he was already been exhausted. This gave him an opportunity to rest his head against the window and watch through increasingly-heavy eyelids as the world passed them by. Somewhere along the line, he began to doze off, eyes closing for longer and longer periods of time, but still maintaining some semblance of consciousness.

Although unsure of how long had passed, a low chuckle shook him from his half-sleep, and he blinked open his eyes to the sight of Bill laughing softly. "What a fucking stupid joke."

"Hm?" Dipper hummed, mental fog still hovering over him.

"The dumb one about the two guys and the river."

"Oh." Dipper cracked a lopsided grin after a moment as he realized. "You finally got that?"

Bill laughed, "Yeah, it's incredibly stupid. I can't believe you."

With a small pinch of satisfaction and the smile still on his lips, Dipper let his eyes close again. "Guess I'm just unbelievable."

Bill's chuckle rumbled, "You really are."


	10. Chapter 10

It was a little surprising Stan decided he'd be in charge of the kids again after telling him to leave those two alone, but Bill chalked that up to desperation since Stan and Ford had taken Soos out for firearm training. How embarrassing, having to be taken out for training when he should already know how to operate a gun.

With those three gone, it just left him with the kids and Red and a day off to do whatever they wanted while they awaited the others' return. Red was sitting in the armchair with a magazine, meanwhile Shooting Star and Pine Tree were both taking up the majority of the sofa with how they were spread out. The little fuckers, they were starting to act like they owned the place.

"I'm _bored_!" said Mabel from her spot on the sofa, her legs hooked over the backside while she laid upside-down on the cushions.

Similarly splayed out but with his legs draped over the armrest, Dipper tilted his head to glance at her. "You've been texting Pacifica all evening. How can you be bored?"

And speaking of texting, if Robbie didn't stop blowing up his phone with reminders of heist details, Bill was going to put a bullet through Robbie's thick skull. He was getting sick of his phone vibrating about shit he already knew. "She's probably bored because she and Pacifica aren't in bed together, like, _right now_." His tone had changed, mimicking a teenage girl's voice.

"There's more to dating than jumping into bed," Dipper pointed out dryly, "but I guess you try to get the lesser disappointment out of the way first."

Across the couch, Mabel fell into a fit of giggles. "Being in bed with Pacifica _would_ be fun right now! Maybe Dipper can walk in like he always used to when I had dates over!" It was interesting how that small comment elicited a full-out whine from Dipper, and he mentally noted he'd have to probe at that sometime. Seemed like a sore spot. He liked those vulnerabilities when it came to the kid since his ego could stand to be knocked down a couple pegs from time to time.

"Sorry cutie," Bill said with some smugness. He couldn't help it– Dipper made it _so easy_. "I know you're jealous of my ability to get more action than you, and I don't even have a sister to share _her_ experience with."

Dipper's eyes flashed with mischievousness as they settled on him. "Bet that's kind of a let down for a Southerner like you."

"Roll tide!" Mabel piped in before going back to her phone, but Bill shook his head.

"Not from Alabama, doesn't work here." It was hard to contain his laughter though. Bill mused to himself how he bet the twins knew _all about_ incest with how close they were, he'd walked in on them asleep, spooning on the sofa more than once now. And thinking back, Dipper didn't look half bad as a little spoon... maybe he could get himself some of that, they would probably fit together quite nicely.

"Seriously, dude," Dipper started, almost hesitantly like he was wondering if he'd be corrected, "when you're at the point of having a heterosexual life partner, you're not getting any."

"That's what hookers are for, sugar. They _love_ me. I even pay their cab fare."

At that, Wendy glanced up from her magazine. "Actually… you pay for a quarter of their cab fare and kick them out of the penthouse. You don't even pay them for the sex."

"Shut it, Red," he grumbled, bristling at Wendy's intervention. "Go back to your ripoff _Playgirl_ magazine, it's the only action you'll ever get since you'd make such a shitty housewife." He wasn't wrong, and judging by the look of surprise on Wendy's face, she obviously knew it too.

Tensing beside him, Dipper was shooting a warning glance in his direction that lingered for several seconds, as if silently scolding him for that biting comment. He and Wendy weren't on the best terms, so what? Wasn't any of this kid's business.

Instead of a serious verbal chastising like Bill had been expecting, Dipper's expression finally softened into something less harsh, which he figured meant he was off the hook for now. With a mock gasp and the tone of a nagging wife, Dipper said exaggeratedly, "You're sleeping with _hookers_ , honey? I clean the house all day and cook for us, and you can't be bothered to be faithful."

Bill looked at him in amusement, skeptical of his claim that he cooked because not once had he done it in his presence. "When have you _ever_ cooked a meal for us?"

"He does it all the time!" Mabel outed him before he could respond, Dipper suddenly looking sheepish. "He just saves the yummy food for when you're not here." Oh. That explained a lot. Bill was torn between being amused and being _furious_ that Dipper would only cook when he wasn't around.

Wendy added, "Yeah, his cheesy jalapeño rice is pretty good."

"I should shove cheesy jalapeño rice down your throats and watch you choke," Bill muttered darkly. So what if maybe he was leaning toward furious, it wasn't his fault Dipper was a little bitch who cooked for everybody except him.

Glaring, Dipper didn't look pleased with his threat. "What's your deal, man?"

"I should be asking you that," Bill challenged, irked by this newfound betrayal. How could Dipper keep this from him? "Why am I the _only one_ being left out of your meals, Pine Tree? What the fuck is up with that?"

"Maybe it's because you're cheating on me, your lovely and amazing housewife, with hookers."

"Oh, fucking please. You don't even know the last time I was with a whore."

"I know the last time you were with a fake whore."

"That was _you_ ," Bill was as agitated as he sounded, too focused on this to bother acknowledging Wendy's noise of confusion. Why were the hookers the issue right now? Dipper had intentionally gone behind his back with everyone else, _cooking_ for them. " _You_ were the crossdressing hooker, but that doesn't fucking matter. Why would you do that? Why would you… fucking go behind my back?" Quieter, with a hint of hurt to his words, he added, "I thought we were friends."

In the background, he could hear Mabel's quiet chant of: "Drama! Drama! Drama!"

"You know what, I'm not a part of this," Wendy said, returning to her magazine as if trying to tune it out.

Seemingly noticing the extent of his frustration, Dipper shifted until he was sitting upright and had moved closer, skinny-jeaned legs crossed. "Dude, chill," it was more hushed, like Dipper was trying to only have this conversation with him rather than the rest of the room. "What are you talking about?"

"You're intentionally doing shit without me." He wasn't going to hide the hurt in his voice, not that he could. It was something so small and he knew that, but he hated how out of the blue it was, how no one had thought or cared enough to tell him until now. Finding out through Mabel was a new low.

"Well, sometimes," he raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck, averting his gaze (a subtle movement not lost on Bill) in the process, "you're not here at dinner time." It held an inflection of guilt, a cop out answer.

He knew he was lying, could feel it in every fiber of his being. "I can't believe you," Bill said. "You're trying to pin this back on me? I might not be here twenty-four seven like you are, but that doesn't fucking mean I'm always gone for dinner. You just avoid making it around me."

The corners of Dipper's lips quivered, small twitches bringing them downward as his eyes grew glassy and his breathing hitched. Still unable to meet his eyes, his gaze dancing everywhere but on his. "Look," he swallowed, "it's… it's sort of because—"

" _ **Tell me**_!" Bill almost sounded like Stan with how his voice boomed across the room, Dipper flinching back from the force of his demand. "You little fucker, tell me _right fucking now_ or I swear to the stars I will leave." And not come back, because he didn't want to be around such _toxic_ and _heartless_ individuals.

"— because _you'll make fun of me_ ," snapped Dipper, harshly. "You'll start in on how _feminine_ it is and fucking laugh at me until I want to die. There, happy?" Huffing angrily, Dipper shoved away from him and stalked into the kitchen without so much as a glance.

Mabel made a spectator's 'ooo' sound, watching the interaction. "Fight, fight, fight!" When did _she_ become Stan? And here Stan thought he was spending too much time with Dipper, clearly those two were spending too much time together.

As angry as he was with the kid, it was probably a good idea to go after him if he wanted to get his pants in the future. Bill got to his feet and followed him into the kitchen, eyes sweeping the pristine room and landing on Dipper, who was hunched over a countertop with his head in his hands. "Would you really want to die, Pine Tree?" Bill asked, leaning against the wall.

Dipper peered at him for a long moment and eventually shrugged. "Maybe."

"Have you wanted to die because of being called feminine before?" Bill inquired further, wondering what was up with this kid. It seemed way overdramatic to wish for death over something so menial. And that was coming from _him_ , the guy who admittedly had meltdowns over what some would consider minor issues.

"I used to get teased over not being manly enough," it was a guarded response, rather unemotional in nature, "but it's also because cooking is something I actually enjoy, and… if you get cruel over how _feminine_ it might be, I'll probably feel like shit every time I cook after that and stop having fun doing it."

He was _teased_ over his femininity and that was why he claimed he wanted to die? How pathetic. After a long moment of contemplation, he finally spoke, "If it means.. _that much_ to you, I won't tease you about your cooking." For now, at least. Maybe if Dipper grew a pair that would change. "It's cute you cook– how'd you convince Stan to get real ingredients?"

"I just asked? You were there." Dipper sighed and shook his head. "Thanks, I guess, but…" he trailed off, worrying his lower lip, looking like he wanted to say more, but then it never came. "It doesn't matter."

"When I was there, Stan asked if you didn't like the free-for-all we had going. He never agreed to your demands, cutie." He was getting too soft with the kids, letting them push him around, succumbing to their crazy wishes. So much for being a _feared_ crime boss.

"I don't know why you're so upset with me over this when you have a hobby you didn't tell me about." Dipper motioned through the doorway at the baby grand.

Over his shoulder, Bill glanced at the piano, his gaze hardening before it returned to Dipper. Who snitched? They were going to DIE for their betrayal. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't play the piano. Never have, never will."

"Mm-hmm, okay," he said skeptically, "so you're telling me it's fine if I just walk over here," and that shit actually brushed past him to start approaching the piano, _his piano_ , "and play something?"

"I doubt you could play it right," Bill said tensely. "Your fingers are too noodly to play a decent tune, Pine Tree. You should go back to cooking. Or… pouting in the kitchen, or whatever you were doing." And stay away from his fucking piano.

"I don't know," Dipper's fingertips grazed the trim, they were damn near dancing along the smooth surface, "sounds like you wouldn't know the difference since you don't play it."

"I know the difference between having fingers and not having fingers, and you're awfully close to not having any. Hands off." Bill moved to join his side, smacking his hand away as he whipped out his handkerchief to wipe up the disgustingly greasy fingerprints Dipper left behind. "Don't touch my shit."

Dipper's eyebrows raised, the tiniest hint of a smile working its way onto his face. "I'm sure you could make even Chopin jealous."

"I'd rather die of tuberculosis first. Leave my shit alone, you hear me kid? Or I'll be Chopin off your fingers." Bill loathed the way his expression didn't falter in fear anymore, that dumb dreamy look plastered on his equally dumb face like he'd found something magnificent, those doe-eyes glittering with interest.

He hated him. A little. The vibrating of his phone in his pocket caught his attention, and he fished it out to see it was Robbie and wasn't sure who the lesser evil was, but didn't have much of a choice since Robbie was his boss. "I gotta take this kid. You better not touch the piano." Without waiting for Dipper to respond, he turned away and headed to the balcony door, accepting the call as he walked. "What do you want?"

"Is it too hard to respond to your texts? Are you even getting them?" The whine-train never stopped with Robbie Valentino. "Are you in or out for the heist? Need to know, like, now."

Choo choo.

Hopefully the train would derail over a cliff and Robbie would fucking die. "Of course I'm getting them, you fucking idiot. It's hard not to when you're sending a shit-ton of pointless details while I'm busy. Yes, I am down for the heist. Are you going to fuck off now?" Outside, the distant stars glimmered in the dark sky. It was disappointing he couldn't see more of them in the city, and he wondered if Dipper would be up for a coffee run after this. They could head toward the coastline and watch the stars for the evening, he liked the thought.

"See, you could've _texted_ that so I wouldn't have to call and hear your dumbass voice." Ah, but he knew better. Robbie probably _loved_ his dumbass voice, wanted it whispering sweet nothings into those pierced ears while he fucked him. Robbie switched topics, "What about those kids? They still with Stan?"

How stupid was Robbie? "Where else would they be? They're caged puppies, they're not going anywhere. Why?" Bill didn't understand his interest in this topic. It'd been like… two weeks or something, the kids clearly didn't know shit. They weren't a threat, but he knew Stan wanted to keep them until the political situation had settled.

"What the fuck, is he adopting them or something? They have to leave sometime."

"Sorry, Stacey. I know how much _you_ want to adopt them, but Stan'll probably beat you to it."

There was a dangerous undertone to his voice. "Pentagram and I have been talking, we think they're too much of a risk."

Okay, now they were starting to sound paranoid. The kids, a risk? That'd be fun to play with and stir the pot a little, just the right amount to get a rise out of Robbie. "Oh, yes. They've been plotting on going to the police and submitting a report on what they remember. Which is everything, by the way."

"What? Holy—" There were scattered, vehement curses on the other side of the line, and a shrill demand from none other than Gideon, though it was too distant to be intelligible. "Are you shitting me? You've just been _fine_ with that? You were there too."

Bill chuckled. The fact he believed him so easily was _hilarious_. "If shit hits the fan, it's on your ass, not mine. Unlike you, I don't flaunt my face around in public."

"Get rid of them."

Yawn. Robbie overreacting, as usual. Disinterested in the conversation and the specific instructions Robbie was giving him, Bill looked around the city, trying to pick out a coffee-and-stargaze location that Dipper might enjoy. And when he replied, it was a dismissive, "Okay. Anything else?" He wasn't going to kill the kids. Probably, really was dependent on how mouthy Dipper thought he could get with him. Despite Robbie's demand, Bill would rather sit back and see how things went with Shooting Star and Pine Tree. As far as he knew, Question Mark would be their killer, considering how shitty he was with weapons.

"No, just… text next time and make sure—"

Pulling the phone away from his ear mid sentence, he clicked the end call button. Thank stars that was over. Heading back inside, he noticed Wendy and the kids seemed to be getting ready to depart since they were hovering around the entryway of the penthouse. They were leaving without him? What _heathens_. Why were they always excluding _him_?

Wendy was the first to see he'd come back inside, and she explained, "Mabel and I are bored, so we're heading to the pier in Del Perro." She lightly punched Dipper's shoulder, which he gave something of a smile-grimace at, then rubbed the spot where she'd hit him. "And this guy's coming with us. Stan won't mind, especially if he doesn't know."

"Great, that makes four of us. I'm guessing we're taking my car, then." Wendy and Mabel couldn't drive because they were girls, and Dipper probably didn't know how to. Bill hadn't seen him try, nor had he ever offered despite the kid's apparent issues with his driving.

"Nah, mine's already parked on the street. Easy enough."

Bill didn't want her shitty car, but whatever. He'd put up with it for now. "Hand over the keys." He walked toward them, extending his hand to take the keys as he stared expectantly at her.

"Don't be a jackass, man." Wendy stared back, deadpanning, "You aren't driving." Her keys stayed securely in her hand as she turned to the door.

Explaining his reasoning, he said, "Well, women can't and Dipper doesn't know how to." The chorus of protests ranging from accusations of sexism to Dipper claiming he _could_ drive rang out, but he ignored it to demand, "Hand them over, Ice Bag."

"Nope, guess you're taking your own car. Come on guys."

As Wendy exited the penthouse, Dipper followed after but waited in the doorway after the two ladies had passed him, "To be fair, you weren't technically invited to begin with."

They weren't excluding him from something again! "Yeah, well I'm not letting you do something without me _like you've been doing._ "

"It's almost like you enjoy being around me."

"Keep telling yourself that, cutie." Maybe one day it'd be true.

A flicker of amusement lit in Dipper's brown eyes. "If I stayed here, would you still go?"

… No. "Sure, I could hang out with Shooting Star instead."

"Sounds like a fun girl's night." Yeah, but at least Bill would probably get pussy out of it because unlike Dipper, he had a chance with the ladies.

From down the hallway, there was an unmistakably Mabel call of, "Hurry up, Dippy! We're leaving, like, now, so get your butt over here!"

The kid turned to leave, but Bill reached out to grab his shoulder, Dipper flinching slightly. Bill pushed down the tiny pinch of guilt because he wasn't going to hurt him again, Dipper needed to stop being such a wuss."Where are you going, Pine Tree? You're not leaving with those two."

"I'm not?" he asked, sounding less confused than he did intrigued by this new information. "What, are you going to win my favor in the next five seconds?"

Why did he _want_ to go with them anyway? He'd just be trapped by girl talk. "I don't think you have five seconds, sugar. Besides, I'm better company than those girls are."

With the sound of a car starting outside, Dipper seemed to realize he was right: time was up, didn't have a choice anymore, guess he was stuck with Bill — oh _no_ , what a pity. A muffled noise of vibration filled the silence and Dipper snatched his phone from his pocket to read the notification. "Mabel says to meet them there, so I guess you now have fifteen minutes to win my favor and show me what _good company_ you are." Before Bill knew it, the kid was taking his wrist and dragging him to the garage.

Oh, he could show him good company in fifteen minutes. He yanked his hand free but followed Dipper down into the garage, chuckling softly. "So, you wanted me to show you a good time? Take off your pants and bend over the hood."

"Are you at least going to cover the whole cab fare when we're done?" Despite what he said, he was getting in the passenger seat and once again propping his feet on the dashboard.

Christ, this kid's sass had no off switch. But maybe he liked that. Maybe.

* * *

The drive to the pier was eventless for the most part. On the bright side, they arrived in thirteen minutes, not fifteen, and if Dipper tried to claim he wasn't good company on the way over, that'd just make him a bigger liar than he already was. They'd had a nice chat, nice music, a nice laugh when Dipper asked what song was on the radio and he said it was Darude's "Sandstorm."

Well, Dipper actually hadn't laughed at that but Bill sure did, enough to make up for the kid's lack of enthusiasm. Wasn't going to let a hilarious joke go to waste.

"Hey, what's that?" Dipper asked from the passenger seat, Bill didn't bother to look at what he was commenting on, too busy finding a parking spot since they'd arrived. This place was always insanely busy in the evenings, bustling with a nonstop swarm of people; he wasn't itching to fight the crowds within the pier and still preferred his idea of an evening under the stars. In the corner of his vision he could see Dipper shuffling to get closer to the window, probably squinting to get a clear image through the darkness, brightened only by the festive lights of Del Perro's amusement park, Pleasure Pier. "I think—" he paused, "I think it's a dog? Do they allow dogs here?"

A dog? That caught his attention because Bill liked dogs, not that he'd tell Dipper that. He glanced away from the road to try to spot the canine Dipper was referring to. Was it… was it that Golden Retriever? "The retriever?" he inquired to verify his suspicions. If so, that dog was _his_.

"Sure?" Dipper sounded anything but. "I don't know dog breeds, dude. Parents didn't like pets, so we never had them."

Time to educate the kid. "The dog running around is a Golden Retriever. _Gorgeous_ dogs. Very loyal and affectionate." Not that Dipper would know about loyalty or affection, seeing as he betrayed him with his secret cooking and wouldn't even give him a blowjob. He mused aloud, "I wonder if the dog'll come to me?" Throwing the car in park, Bill ignored the fact they weren't in a spot and got out of his vehicle.

Although he could hear the kid unclipping his seatbelt to leave with him, there was a whine of, "Wait, we're not in a parking spot! If you want, I... I could do it?" Appearing by his side within a moment, he cleared his throat. "Remember earlier, when you said I couldn't drive? Well, I can. I have a permit and everything."

"Hah, what, did you bribe the DOT to get it?"

Dipper appeared to be mildly offended at the accusation. "I scored a perfect on the test," he informed him, "but never did the driving test part because my parents— uh, they thought driving was too dangerous, so… yeah. Mabel only got hers because she kept bugging them, but I never did."

Bill laughed at him. "Was it twenty questions with pictures? Hard, I know. When I did it, we were given forty questions in story scenarios."

"That's because you're _old_ ," Dipper muttered.

"Other states do it differently!" He sharply reminded him. "It's not _age_ , it's how states handle the test."

"Okay, so it's because you're a Beach Boy from Florida."

He scoffed. "And you're a Sun Slut from San Andreas, get over it."

Dipper couldn't seem to resist laughing at that, shooting a flirty wink in his direction. "Can't resist that San Andreas ass, we just do it better here than in Miami."

"Nope," he denied, "I've still seen better." There was a brief pause. "Crash the car if you want kid, but don't run over the dog." If he hurt the puppy, Bill would _kill him_. He handed the keys over to Dipper and let the kid scamper off to go be a moderately law-abiding citizen.

As he left to correct the parking problem, Dipper called over his shoulder, "Just for that, your butt smacking privileges have been revoked!"

Hah, so Dipper thought. Bill would continue to slap his ass and he _knew_ Pine Tree would like it. Love it, even, because it was Bill doing it. Dipper was more than just a Sun Slut, he was a Sun Slut for _him_.

After he'd had his fill of watching Dipper walk away, Bill approached the dog, cooing to her gently. "Hey puppy, come here." And she did, much to his delight. She trotted over and licked at his outstretched hand, and he grabbed hold of her pale purple collar.

Her previous owners obviously didn't care enough about her if they were letting her roam the streets without any contact information on her tag. Upon examination, he could see her name was Bella. Well, Bella was safe with him now, and he moved to sit with her on the nearby curb situated outside the amusement park.

As he sat beside her, his hands gently raked over her fluffy, golden fur, and he relished in the softness, scratching all the right places from the way she stayed next to him while lapping up the attention. She didn't seem to be in bad spirits, but then again, why should she? She was getting adopted by the best of the best — _him_.

It was perfect.

Dipper approached shortly after, looking from the phone in his hand to Bill, then to the dog and back to him. "Mabel and Wendy are almost here, by the way. I warned them about the lack of parking." Noticing the new person, Bella momentarily left Bill's previous bombardment of pets to demand them from Dipper, who complied by stroking her fur and was rewarded with licks. Taking a seat next to him, he commented, "Wow, you were right about the friendliness."

"Goldies are fantastic," Bill said with some fondness. "I don't know why they'd let her run around so carelessly. She deserves better." She deserved him.

"Does she have a human?" Dipper asked, searching through the copious amounts of fluff to find any tag on her collar while Bella lowered herself to lie near their feet, seemingly content with the affection she was receiving from both.

Bill shrugged. "A collar and a name. No contact information, not that I'd want to hand her back. It's dangerous out here and they just let her go."

"Oh," he held the metal tag between his fingers before letting it drop back into the sea of golden curls, "Bella. That's a nice name." Yes. Bella was a lovely name. Bill and Bella, Bella and Bill.. it was very pleasant, had quite the ring to it, he liked it a lot. "She's such a pretty girl, I can't believe she'd just be out here alone."

"If I see her owner," he mused out loud, "I should kill them. Bella needs a better one anyway." He rubbed the golden dog's back affectionately. "Stan won't mind." If he did, Bill would kill him too. He wasn't losing another dog.

Dipper paused in his movements to stare at him, then returned to petting Bella. "I hope this is one of your weird jokes. Sometimes it's hard to tell, your humor sucks."

Bill glanced at him. "Why would I be joking about this?" There was no humor in keeping a puppy safe from neglectful owners.

"Because someone is probably really sad about losing their dog and is trying to find her, and you're all, 'I should kill them because I'm Bill Cipher and I have more homicidal tendencies than black and yellow suits!'"

"If they cared about their dog, they wouldn't have lost her in the first place." His tone was a snap, harsh and cold. "What kind of asshole doesn't even have contact information on her? That screams 'horrible owner', and I'm not going to let them touch her again."

Dipper looked… concerned, mildly horrified even. "Seriously? You're— you're going to adopt her?" It seemed like more was on the tip of his tongue, perhaps another ridiculous reminder this wasn't his dog to keep. Bullshit, so he was just glad the kid had enough sense not to say it.

"Why wouldn't I?" he demanded. Of course he was going to keep her. "Unlike you, I have experience with pets." Nothing he'd disclose with Dipper. The deaths of Poppy and Buttercup were still a fresh wound on his mind, despite the handful of years that had past.

Dipper shifted uncomfortably. "I just don't think—"

A screech interrupted him and within seconds, Mabel was upon them, crouching down to fawn over his new companion. "PUPPY! CAN WE KEEP HER? SHE'S SO PRETTY!"

Following after at a much more leisurely pace, Wendy said, "Cool dog. Who's is it?"

"Mine," Bill responded with a smug glance at Dipper. He wasn't going to convince him otherwise.

"Have fun convincing Stan. I doubt he'll go for it since you're not taking in a cat," she said with a chuckle. "So, are you guys just going to wait around out here or hit Pleasure Pier? The fun's inside, not in the parking lot."

Mabel had wrapped her arms around Bella. "I want to go on the rides!"

Wendy clapped her on the shoulder. "Sure, let's go. Bill, Dipper, you coming? Bet us gals could outride you, but the operators probably aren't going to be crazy about your dog."

"Sure," Bill said. "I want to get a ball for Bella." They could find a spot to throw it around. He knew Golden Retrievers were high energy, and this gave him an opportunity to stay away from the pier's swarms of people. "You can outride Pine Tree. I need to get rope out of my trunk first."

There was the briefest glimpse of amusement on Dipper's face, but he didn't say anything, already being pulled along by an impatient Mabel to get into the amusement park while Wendy took the lead in confident strides.

Bill made his way back to the parking lot, looking for the familiar golden vehicle with Bella trotting at his side. It wasn't long until he found it. Well, the kid managed to park without destroying his car, although he did a shitty job of being between the lines. The tires were on the line. He wasn't going to fix it though, and moved to unlock his trunk and grab the rope. This would hold Bella until they got her a real leash.

His train of thought was interrupted by his phone going off. If it was fucking Robbie _again_ , he was going to—

Luckily, it wasn't Robbie. It was Pine Tree.

( **9:10 PM)** _Hi_

( **9:10 PM)** hey

 **(9:10 PM)** _Where are you?_

 **(9:11 PM)** hiding a body in my trunk

If Dipper actually believed that, he was dumber than Robbie. Bill already stated when he was with the others that he was getting rope for his dog.

 **(9:11 PM)** _Dude you can't joke about that, not after saying you wanted to kill Bella's human like five minutes ago_

 **(9:11 PM)** i didn't say i was joking

 **(9:11 PM)** _I'm starting to rethink riding back with you_

 **(9:12 PM)** do you want to join him in the trunk cutie?

 **(9:12 PM)** also why aren't you on a ride

 **(9:12 PM)** _Didn't meet the height requirement_

 **(9:12 PM)** i always knew you were 2

 **(9:13 PM)** _Yeah, 2 much 4 you_

 **(9:14 PM)** _But seriously, where are you because I'm not feeling rides tonight. I want to hang out with my crush, you should be flattered_

Bill's eyes narrowed at the familiarity of the statement, thinking he'd said something similar to Dipper before, but didn't comment on it.

 **(9:14 PM)** i just got rope out of my trunk

 **(9:14 PM)** to leash bella

Speaking of which, he looped one end of the rope around Bella's collar and tied it. Now she wouldn't be going anywhere.

 **(9:14 PM)** but you can meet us in the gift shop

With his dog safely secured, he was already heading to it, leaving the parking lot and entering the amusement park. The employees knew better than to fuck with him about Bella.

 **(9:15 PM)** you were quick to leave for someone who wanted to hang

 **(9:15 PM)** _Mabel pulled me away?_

 **(9:15 PM)** _She's surprisingly strong_

 **(9:15 PM)** stop blaming your sister for your shortcomings

 **(9:16 PM)** you're short and weak, we get it pine tree

 **(9:16 PM)** _I mean I don't have to hang out with you_

 **(9:16 PM)** _I just thought it'd be nice but maybe I'll stick with Mabel if you're going to be like this_

 **(9:16 PM)** then do that

 **(9:16 PM)** _I'm kidding, I like Bella way better than you_

 **(9:16 PM)** go suck stan's cock

Seriously. If all this kid wanted to do was harass him over text, he could fuck off. Bill had a new friend now. A better friend. Bella.

 **(9:17 PM)** _Ew. You'd probably want to watch_

 **(9:17 PM)** nah i'd go play with my dog

 **(9:17 PM)** not into old men and she's better company than you are

 **(9:18 PM)** _Because unlike me, she'll come if you tell her to? ;)_

 **(9:18 PM)** oh fuck you

 **(9:18 PM)** _You want to_

 **(9:18 PM)** not anymore

 **(9:18 PM)** _And I repeat: 2 much 4 you_

 **(9:18 PM)** i could get you to come for me though

A little cock-hungry twink like him would love to be bound and gagged by Bill, bent over and fucked relentlessly. He just didn't know it yet, or perhaps he did with the way he'd been flirting today.

 **(9:19 PM)** _Nope_

 **(9:19 PM)** they all say that ;)

Dipper was just in denial he'd have one hell of a good time.

 **(9:19 PM)** _Kind of difficult to do that when my interest in you is as nonexistent as your modesty_

 **(9:19 PM)** i like it when ladies play hard to get

 **(9:20 PM)** that's been you all week and i'd tap that, doll

 **(9:20 PM)** _Why bother? Apparently my butt is inadequate_

 **(9:20 PM)** yeah but it could still be a good fuck cutie

Oh yes. But Bill had lost interest in the discussion, having made his way into the gift shop near the entrance to Pleasure Pier. Bella was happily panting beside him and he patted the top of her head as he searched for a ball he could use to play with her. He'd give Dipper a few minutes to show up before he left to go to the _real_ park.

Not long after, a voice rang out, "A jackass and his dog walk into a gift shop…" and suddenly, there was a presence beside him, a short presence that sassed him whenever possible. "Hi sweetheart," he cooed, then more flatly said, "and Bill." And there it was.

"Ah, you must be the next addition to my trunk. I always wanted to tie a midget up and throw him in with my shovel and body bag. Tell me, cutie, how loudly can you scream when your mouth is gagged and your hands restrained?" At this rate, maybe he should've just gone to the park without Pine Tree.

Dipper snickered, "Loud enough to always impress my dominant."

"I'd get off better if I strangled you. Stars know how much you _love_ my hands pressing down on that velvety throat of yours."

It was almost sweet, the way his bravado instantly dropped and he swallowed so thickly, maybe remembering the time he'd been trapped under him. His throat had been soft to the touch, he could clearly recall the outline of his airway beneath his skin, how much _power_ over Dipper he felt. One small movement and he could've killed the kid.

Changing the subject, he asked, "Which ball do you think she'd like the best?" Dipper reached out to grab a rubber one, bouncing it against the floor and Bella jerked, suddenly attentive now that there was a _ball_ in her vicinity. Goldens were so wonderful, the best companions.

Far better than Dipper. "We can get her a rubber ball. Or all the balls." He wanted to spoil his precious puppy. "All the balls would do nicely." As Dipper watched in amusement, Bill began to pick one of each ball. A rubber ball, a tennis ball, a ball that squeaked, and a ball that was squishy to the touch. It was a little disappointing the gift shop didn't have more options, but there was plenty of time to swing by a more appropriate store later.

Balls in hand, he made his way to the cashier and let them ring up the armada of balls. The ballmada. When they finished, he took the ballmada and began to head out of the gift shop. "Which should we start with?" Bill asked as he hunted through the bag. His bright eyes were on Bella as he pulled one out. "I know Golden Retrievers like tennis balls. You want the tennis ball, sweetie?" It seemed she very much did want the tennis ball, the way she bounced around him in excitement—not _on_ him, no, Goldens were too polite for that.

Dipper was staring at him again with that goofy smile, the one he'd worn when he initially confirmed his history of being in a musical. It was a dumb, knowing smile and while he otherwise would've wanted to wipe it off the kid's face, he was in too good of a mood to care.

Bill gave her makeshift leash a lot of slack once they made it to the park beside the pier, wanting her to be able to easily chase after the ball. Once she had plenty of leeway, he threw the ball and watched as she dashed after it. What a gorgeous puppy, he was proud to be able to call her his own.

Beside him, he could see Dipper taking a seat in the grass as he folded his legs in front of him, leaning back on his hands. "So you're really keeping her?" he asked, his eyes on Bella. "She is pretty sweet, and cute."

"Why wouldn't I?" As far as Bill was concerned, whoever previously owned her fucked up and didn't deserve another chance with her. She was his now. Nothing would hurt her. Not... not like the others.

Dipper shrugged. "Will Stan let you have a pet in the penthouse, or… or do you live somewhere else too?"

"Stan is a cat guy, calls them all Puff Daddy." It was why Bill had initially began calling him 'Big Daddy' but they hadn't had a cat around in a while, thank god. If Stan _dared_ to try to come between them, Bill wouldn't hesitate to put a knife in his gut. He liked the guy, but his dog came first. "It wouldn't be a strategic move on his part to deny me a dog," he said. "If he wants his intestines to stay inside him, that is. I do have another place, I just don't go to it often." It was in the countryside, one of many safe houses they used. Bella would probably like it.

Although he looked momentarily alarmed at the threat, he simply grimaced. "Jeez, dude. It's not like you pay rent, I think he could deny you a dog." But after a second, he seemed curious about the residence in question and inquired, "Your other place… is it in San Andreas?"

" _No one_ is taking her away from me," he almost snapped at Dipper. He already lost several dogs, she wouldn't be another number in a sea of heartache and tragedy. "Stan can fight me if he wants, I'm not budging." Bella had returned to his side, dropping the ball by his feet and nudging his hand like she was eager for him to continue. Bill was happy to oblige, scooping the ball up and tossing it.

Putting his hands up in mock surrender, he said, "Relax, man. I didn't say anyone was."

He implied it when he said Stan could deny him. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Returning to the subject of his house, he took a breath, trying to calm down. "Yeah. It's a ways out from Los Santos, in the country. Why?"

"Heterosexual life partner getaway weekend," he said with a grin, "and now with a dog included." Still watching Bella chase after the ball and pounce on it before beginning to trot back, Dipper went on, "Paleto Bay, I'm guessing? That's a nice, quiet town, and the coastline's gorgeous. It seems like everyone has a place there."

"I didn't want to live with hicks," Bill answered, referencing the weird folks of Sandy Shores which was another popular getaway destination. "So, yes, your guess is correct. Instead there's a giant Cluckin' Bell chicken statue."

"And not nearly as many meth labs."

"Give it a few years."

"Who knows," he replied, "maybe the new mayor will crack down on illegal substances when the election's over."

Bill laughed at that. "I'm fairly certain the new mayor is going to have to deal with assassination attempts first. With the raids they've been doing, a bunch of gangs are going to rally like Natives against the invading white man and demand the scalp of whoever's elected."

Dipper's expression had lost its cheer, and he seemed eager to leave this subject behind as he peered thoughtfully at Bella. "Since you have a place in Paleto Bay… do you think Bella would like swimming? Taking the proper precautions, I mean— it _is_ the ocean."

"Have you never been around a dog before, kid? Of course she's going to like swimming. You won't be able to keep her away from the water." She would happily splash around in the ocean. He could already imagine her bright little paws sinking into the damp sand, leaving a sea of pawprints in her glorious wake.

"Not _all_ dogs like to swim, do they?"

"I haven't met one that doesn't."

They fell into a silence, and Bill focused the rest of his attention on throwing balls for Bella. He liked to change it up, switching out the balls and pretending to throw them to watch her go after nothing. It was adorable in every way, though Dipper had voiced his disagreement and would express it by actually throwing a ball for her. What a child. After a while of playing fetch, Bella flopped down in the grass near them and Bill departed to get his puppy some water and a snack. As well as Dipper, since he supposed he should take care of both his ladies.

Purchasing some jerky, bottled water, a small dish, and a chocolate bar, Bill returned and distributed them accordingly. He filled the dish with water for Bella and placed a handful of the jerky on the ground for her, then gave Dipper the candy. "For you, cutie. Can't have my ladies going hungry."

The deep frown he received was legendary, and he couldn't stop the shit-eating grin on his face. But Dipper didn't stay mad at him for long, probably too hungry to hold it against him, and was now begrudgingly eating the candy bar.

And his entourage was looking a bit tired, Bella splayed out on the grass with Dipper on his back next to her, his hand lazily making circles in the soft fur of her side. It was a perfect sight, and Bill joined the duo by flopping on the grass beside them.

Dipper looked at him as he started to run his hands through Bella's fur as well, seemingly noticing something with the way his eyes focused in interest. "What's that?" he questioned, then clarified with the slightest nod of his head, "On your finger."

"Oh, this?" He raised his hand, looking at the golden ring. It was studded with an orange gem– citrine, the planetary stone for a Virgo, though Dipper didn't need to know that.

"Yeah, that," Dipper confirmed, examining the ring. "Is that the one you were talking about getting a while ago?" He glanced between the new ring and the one he wore, holding his up to put them together. "They look really similar." Well, obviously, the only difference was the gemstone.

He had told Dipper he was getting one that was similar, they just weren't exact matches. "The stones are different. I'm glad it's not gay looking like the Tiger's Eye, I hate how Stan and Ford's rings turned out."

Humming lightly, he inquired in reference to his new ring, "Why did you get… that one? Whatever gem that is."

"It reminds me of someone." Bill didn't want to go into it further, looking at the golden puppy beside them. He didn't want to tell Dipper how he secretly enjoyed his companionship, how he crafted the ring because he wanted something to remember him by when Stan finally got rid of him. Or more grimly, if Robbie managed to get to him and his sister first. Dipper was quickly becoming his favorite person despite (well, because of) what a little shit he could be at times, and Bill wasn't looking forward to him being gone.

The kid couldn't be more oblivious in social situations if he tried. "Oh. Who?"

Well, it wasn't any of Dipper's damn business. Even if Dipper didn't know who it was, he wouldn't tell him a fucking thing. Seriously, Bill didn't go around _demanding_ information like that from other people. "None of your concern."

There was a vibrating noise, and Dipper used his free hand to hold his phone, the screen casting a blueish illumination onto his face. "Mabel and Wendy are done with rides. They want to know if we're even still here." He began to type a reply to his sister's text. "Mabel says they're going to get food and wait for the fireworks to start, then head back."

"You can tell them we're having a better time," Bill smirked. Were they not? He was having a blast with Bella. Dipper wasn't awful company. "We don't need a stupid _ferris wheel_ to entertain ourselves for an hour."

"Nooo," he whined pitifully but it melted into a laugh. "She'll probably make a joke about how we've been busy getting it on."

That wasn't such a bad thing. "The night's still young, cutie. I bet this park hasn't seen some action in years."

Dipper's eyes got huge, blown wide, and he asked incredulously, "With _Bella_ here?" He seemed to pause for a second, like he'd been betrayed by himself and was surprised— he flopped back against the grass with a groan. "We're not going to do anything like that, dude."

"So… wait, if Bella wasn't here right now you'd be down for it?" Dipper hadn't jumped to rejecting him because _him_ , rather his thoughts seemed to have gone straight for Bella. Interesting.

That appeared to hit the mark on the head since even in the dark he could see the way Dipper's cheeks colored. "God, no," it was scathing, like he was covering embarrassment. "Not interested in sleeping with you." With a sideways glance, he referenced their prior conversation, "I only go for guys that cover the whole cab fare, and probably won't slip into a poor Russian accent while we're boning."

Bill faintly chuckled, rubbing a spot behind Bella's ear. "I don't believe you, cherry. I think you'd go for a guy who'd only give you an eighth of the cab fare while slipping into an _excellent_ Russian accent."

"Nope, I still think I'd go for the cactus over you." Dipper fell silent for a second or two, thinking. "Honestly, giving me a cab fare would just make me feel like a hooker since you're technically my ride back and we live together as it is. You'd be paying me for no reason."

"You'd be missing out on a great sexual experience if you went with the cactus, sugar. Besides, you'd be a hooker regardless since you seem in it for the cab fare." Not that he cared. The cost of cab fare hardly touched his wealth.

Dipper made a face. "Well, I sure wouldn't be in it for sex with you. At least the cab fare is _slightly_ appealing."

"Why don't you take my cock instead? It'll be a lot more _fullfeeling_." Dipper's reaction in three, two, one...

With a squeak escaping him, the look Dipper gave was some cross of astonishment and horror, his cheeks reddening faster than he thought possible, and he was quick to clasp his hands over Bella's fluffy ears. "Oh my god. You— you can't say stuff like that in front of her." It came out as a hiss. "Or in front of _me_ , for fuck's sake. I need an adult."

Bill burst into laughter. "I just did, cutie." And he had no regrets, simply because of Dipper's reaction. Puffing his chest, he reminded, "I _am_ an adult."

"You're impossible," he muttered with a pout, leaning back again. Although he looked flustered from his earlier comment, he didn't say anything more about it. "The stars are bright out here. Easier to see than in Vinewood."

"That's because the city's so polluted it's amazing even a single star could be spotted from the penthouse." It was also surprising people survived in the city, given the living conditions. Bill was used to the reek, something he attributed to being a stress smoker.

"Yeah, if only more people had a _midget_ ," Dipper used his word from earlier and rolled his eyes, _"_ to convince them to go green, it might not be so bad."

Bill shook his head. "If everyone had you, they'd pollute just to piss you off."

"Excuse you, I'm a _delight_ —"

There was a sudden, cheerful cry of a male voice. "Bella!" And she reacted to the call, immediately rising to her feet and looking in the direction of the two approaching strangers—a male and a female—who had another Golden Retriever in tow. The woman stayed back with the other dog, meanwhile the man's arms were outstretched as he greeted Bella fondly. "You silly girl," he said with relief as he knelt down next to her. "Your mommy and I thought we lost you, always runnin' off like that."

Bill hated this guy instantly, and that was etched across his face. "The hell do you think you're doing, asshole?"

He seemed unfazed, eyes flicking between him and Dipper. "Oh! Were you watching her? She's a troublemaker, ain't she? But I love her anyway, and that was real nice of you two."

Bill's hand instantly dipped into the pocket of his blazer, coming up empty. Where was his gun? He must've left it in his car, fuck his life. Fuck this guy. Fuck this ASSHOLE for coming here after he LET his dog run off.

"C'mon Bella," he spoke to her gently, "let's get you and Benny home."

"Don't you fucking touch my dog, fuckhead."

" _Bill_ ," Dipper hissed in warning under his breath.

The man waved him off with a chuckle, undoing the rope around her collar, "No siree, this is my dog! Bella, and her brother Benny. Pretty dogs, huh?"

Bill was moving to get to his fet, body bristling from anger. "She stopped being your dog when you _let her run loose_ without any contact information on her, you inconsiderate jackass. _MY_ dog could have been killed because of your stupidity. You're not touching her."

Dipper was stepping between him and the other male, trying to block him from advancing further with a stern and semi-worried, "Bill, _stop_."

"No!" Bill almost growled, watching through fiery eyes as the guy walked away. "He's not taking _my_ fucking dog, Pine Tree."

"I think we're gonna head out," the man called, "you two are still nice fellas. Thanks for helpin' take care of her for a while."

"I'm going to _hunt you down_ and _rip out your cold heart_ and fucking _eat it_ while I dance in _your fucking intestines_." Bill moved to stop the guy because even if he didn't have a gun he still had a knife to do the job, but Dipper remained firmly between them. He tried to go around the kid, but it was no use when Dipper held his ground and stayed put. He was tempted to shove the kid over and lunge for the asshole, but the violent thought reminded him of how Dipper reacted when he _accidentally_ hurt his damn shoulder. He didn't want that to happen again.

Already walking away, the utterly oblivious man yelled over his shoulder, "I'll have to check with the wife! Visit anytime!" And they were disappearing into the distance.

No, no, no. This wasn't fucking happening again. He already lost everything else he loved, why did they have to take away Bella too? He loved that puppy, despite the short time they had together.

Dipper looked downward, almost appearing guilty as he rubbed at his arms.

"You… you fucking…" Bill's voice was quiet, somewhere between angry and broken. "I can't fucking believe you right now."

"I'm really sorry," it sounded rushed. Panicked. "I thought you were going to hurt him."

"Don't fucking lie to me about how _sorry_ you are." If he was sorry, Bella wouldn't have been taken away. "He _deserved to die_ and now _Bella's gone_ and it's _because of you_ and I…"

Flinching back at the words, Dipper looked completely wrecked by that. "Bill.."

" _Stop_. I just want to go home."

"...Um, with me?" he asked, so shyly and with insurmountable sadness. "Actually, I— I can just go with Wendy and Mabel."

He didn't want to look at Dipper right now. It felt like a hole had been ripped into his chest again, like _his_ heart had been torn out and stomped on. Bill didn't bother responding, turning away to head back to the parking lot and his car. The ballmada and his rope had been left behind, he didn't want to see either ever again. What was the point in bringing the dog toys when Bella wouldn't… when she wouldn't be playing with them?

Bill knew Dipper was following him as he walked to the parking lot, despite how he said he'd go with the girls. It was hard to care anymore. Nothing felt worthy of anything but sadness. His Golden girl was taken from him again, like so many times before. Distantly, he could hear the sound of the fireworks show starting, but the mere thought of others being happy while he was so miserable put a bitter taste in his mouth. All he wanted was his dog. What did he do to repeatedly deserve this?

Moving around the hood of his car so he could just ditch this stupid fucking pier, Dipper's hand caught his wrist. "You're not even staying for the fireworks?" he inquired gently. "It's okay if you want to leave, I just thought—"

Bill really didn't want to hang around for some gay ass fireworks, especially now that one of the few things he gave a shit about was _stolen_ from him. "Is watching them going to magically bring Bella back?" he asked, tone bitter, and if looks were enough to kill, Dipper would be dead where he stood.

Dipper frowned and looked away, giving a broken, "Well, no…"

Of course it wouldn't. It felt like a waste of time, hanging around the pier… but Bill knew one of the last things he wanted was to be more alone and hurt than he already felt. "C'mon," he muttered, "let's watch the dumb fireworks show." Instead of going into his vehicle like he'd planned, he hopped onto the hood and patted the spot beside him, Dipper taking the hint and shuffling onto it.

Raising his eyes to the sky, blooming explosions of color erupted distantly above the pier— reds, greens, whites. It was nothing special to him, but Dipper seemed to be enjoying himself as he watched in awe. The show continued as several minutes passed with them just laying on the hood of his car, Bill spaced out during most of it.

A part of him was numb, in disbelief that he had another dog torn away from him again. He felt hopeless, defeated, like nothing was worth giving any effort anymore because in the end, he'd lose it. Like all his dogs, who his parents had killed. And now Bella, the sweet Goldy that was abandoned by a neglectful owner. She would have been happy with him, she didn't need that _ass_ of an owner to come for her. Bill knew how to take care of dogs, he loved dogs more than he loved himself, and he was struggling to come to terms with her departure. He could've done it. He would've protected her and loved her, and never let any harm come to her. Bill would have _killed_ to keep her safe, and he would have in an instant if not for Dipper's intervention.

Dipper...

There was no denying he was still upset with the kid to some degree. He felt hurt, betrayed he'd just… _give her up_ after discussing their plans in the country. Bella would've loved the beach, would've loved to feel the damp sand beneath her paws as she raced through the water. All of that was gone, and Bill couldn't get it back. He wanted to, so, so badly.

Snapping back to the present, Dipper must have noticed his lack of attention on the fireworks and was hovering over him, peering down with concern. "Do you want to talk about it?" his voice was gentle.

No, he didn't want to talk about how alone, and upset, and plain _hurt_ he felt. Bill didn't want to tell Dipper about how he was terrified of being alone in that moment, and how the only reason he agreed to stay for the dumb fireworks was because it gave him some form of company. He… didn't want to think about how Dipper was the only consistent company he ever really had, how the others were like waves that would come and go and how alone he was otherwise. The others were friends of convenience, brought together solely by their line of work, and the thought of Dipper leaving in under a month was something he dreaded, knowing that without Pine Tree in his life he was _nothing_. A forgotten piece, a cog in a machine of criminals. Dipper was his window into reconnecting with a part of himself he actually liked for a change, the part that was more than just some dirtbag, bottom-of-the-line scum waiting to get killed by a cop, the part he'd buried so hard because it didn't have a place in this lifestyle but this kid drew it out of him. The part that Dipper, for some reason, saw something in because he never let him get away with being a cold hearted jackass.

"Don't leave me," Bill finally said, unable to hide how broken his voice was. There was a lump in his throat.

Clearly stunned, Dipper blinked. "Um, what?"

A month wasn't long enough, he couldn't stand to think of what'd happen after Dipper left. He'd just be alone again, no Bella, no true friend that was with him because they honestly liked being around him. "I know Stan wants you to go, but you can't."

Replacing the pure confusion on Dipper's face was a tinge of sadness. "Kind of have to," he gave a breathless laugh but it didn't sound happy. "I can't just… stay with you guys forever."

" _Stay_ ," Bill demanded with more determination, desperate to not lose the only companion he really had. "I'll force Stan to let you. Just… don't leave."

"I don't think…" he seemed to trail off after seeing the sheer despair on his face, sighing. "What am I supposed to do, live out the rest of my life in the penthouse? Doing _what_?" His questions were genuine and filled with worry, not accusatory. "And it's not like Stan will ever allow that." Dipper laid back down beside him, the bright colors of the fireworks still erupting in the night sky as the show continued. A distant _BOOM_ and subsequent crackles momentarily derailed his thoughts, but he shook it away, too worried about his own horrible loneliness to focus on that right now.

"Once the month is over, you won't have to be holed up all the time. We can explore the city more, and visit the countryside." The thought of visiting his house by the beach was bittersweet. "You could start going to college again, if you wanted." As long as he _stayed_ , Bill didn't care. He just… wanted him. "I'll _ask_ Stan, right now." He reached into his pocket and whipped out his phone, firing off a text to Big Daddy.

 **(11:08 PM)** hey stan can we keep pine tree forever

 **(11:08 PM)** think about it, he'll never survive on his own, it's cruelty to just release the kid into the wild

 **(11:08 PM)** he's accustomed to the lap of luxury

And Bill was damn well going to give it to him, anything he wanted — Bill had enough money to indulge his Pine Tree's wildest desires, and possessed the financial know-how to keep them afloat. With a state under his finger and an essentially endless flow of cash, he was prepared to entertain whatever lifestyle Dipper wanted to have. Anything to keep him from leaving.

A reply was being typed almost instantly, and even Dipper was looking over in interest to find out what his answer was.

 **(11:08 PM)** _no_

That fucker. He wouldn't let Stan keep Pine Tree from him. Mind racing, a new idea came to him. "Okay, change of plans. I can legally adopt you."

Dipper let out a laugh at the absurdity. "What the heck, dude? You're not going to adopt me, you're like…" he paused, "I don't know, maybe five or six years older than me?"

"Think about it," Bill pressed. "Stan can't tell you to scram if I'm your legal guardian." It was Stan-proof.

"You must really want me to stay if you're suggesting _adoption_ ," Dipper commented but the tone of his voice implied he didn't realize just how damn serious he was, how serious this whole situation was. "Look, if it means that much to you.. I'll think about staying." But there was very little commitment to the statement, he didn't even seem to give it much thought since he was already watching the fireworks again.

Unsatisfied with that answer, he was back to thinking about how it would be easy to go the adoption route. "It's not a difficult process," Bill said. "I have enough money to get any adoption agency to prioritize us, as well as a.. well, a bunch of friends in legal places." They weren't friends, but he thought it sounded better than 'blackmail victims'. Anything to get Dipper to stay, even if he didn't know much about the real adoption process.

"Jeez, relax," Dipper murmured, shifting closer to him until his head was on his chest. "I'm not going anywhere." A breeze lightly swept over them, and he could feel Pine Tree's lithe frame shiver against him, curling in tighter.

Stars, he was adorable when he was curled up close. Bill could feel the warmth of his body pressed against him, how small and fragile he felt compared to himself, and a surge of fondness and protectiveness swarmed him. No one. NO ONE. Was going to take this kid away from him. Not like his dogs. He could keep this one, _his_ Pine Tree, safe.

"You cold?" he murmured, shuffling to remove his blazer and put it around Dipper's shoulders, though it covered the entirety of his back as well.

And how he reacted was to die for. Dipper's head raised in surprise, those pupils dilated against brown irises, so huge and appreciative and Bill just wanted to drown in them because they made him absolutely melt. Falling from his plush lips was a murmur of, "Oh— wow, thanks." It sounded caught between disbelief and affection, and Bill felt a rush of heat spark within him as Dipper damn near nuzzled his collarbone, the spot right below where his suspenders crossed over, as he settled back into place to view the remainder of the exploding lights.

He couldn't help but watch him, how snuggled up and downright cute this kid was. Bill was struggling to resist the allure of Dipper's pale lips, and he found himself putting his arm around him, Dipper making a soft noise of contentment. In the process, he had maneuvered him slightly, just enough so Bill was hovering over him and able to steal his lips if he desired.

Gazing at him so very sweetly through lidded eyes, Dipper seemed to be trying to gauge what he was doing, not quite grasping why he was now under Bill. And Bill… he could see the burst of fireworks ignite within Dipper's pupils and as the colors disappeared, they were replaced with tiny glittering stars and his own reflection, a better version of himself and the whole sky seemingly reflecting in this kid's eyes.

He wanted it. Bill wanted to gaze into his eyes forever, to make him his, to protect him so those gorgeous doe-eyes would never lose their beautiful brightness. And without another thought, he had leaned in, lips capturing Dipper's in a kiss.

They were soft, tantalizingly tender and delicate, and the taste of his mouth was sweet, not unlike the chocolate bar he'd eaten earlier. Bill couldn't get enough, wanted and needed more, desperate to kiss him until his lips were wonderfully rosy and swollen. But he felt Dipper's hands pressing into his shoulders, pressing too hard to be a demonstration of his passion and— and the kid was pushing him away, trying to gently shove him back.

Confused by this, Bill drew away, eyes searching Dipper's for the answer. They were GREAT together, Dipper had amazingly sweet lips and he was craving more. Why did he want him to stop?

Dipper looked more pallid than he'd remembered, and significantly more nervous. "I… I think you got the wrong idea," he sputtered, a tremor in his voice.

That was impossible. "I got the right idea," he said, tapping the side of his head. "We're _perfect_ together, Pine Tree. I don't even care about the dog anymore when all I could want is here. With you."

With a sharp inhale, he shook his head, wordlessly at first like he didn't even know what to say or what was happening. "What are you _talking_ about?"

"Hey, Pine Tree! I have a _great_ idea. Let's run away together, leave this shithole. Get married, elope, the works."

By now, those once-delectably wide eyes had turned to fearful pinpricks. " _What_?" Dipper squeaked in alarm, scrambling to sit up and placing more distant between them. "Are you— are you actually _serious_?" Anxiety and fright were etched in his expression, the shock apparent.

Bill couldn't understand why Dipper seemed so against this. It was a perfect idea for the perfect couple. He _knew_ they were meant for each other, it was written in the stars and in the depths of Dipper's eyes and in how Dipper had become the only stable thing in his life. "We're already engaged," he reminded him. "We can leave right now. I can get us a marriage certificate."

"It's not a real engagement!" Dipper protested. His attention shifted to his ring and he worked it off of his finger, tucking it away into the pocket of Bill's blazer. "I'm not _marrying_ you, Bill. That's— don't you see how fucking crazy that is?" Although he sounded completely flabbergasted, Bill was left in the dark as to why; their devotion to one another, their chemistry, was clear enough to him.

"How is it crazy? We were _made_ for each other." Why couldn't his Pine Tree see that? They could be happy together, Dipper wouldn't have to leave and Bill wouldn't be alone.

Dipper's eyebrows shot higher than he'd ever seen, and he was scooting further up the hood, away from him. "I don't _know_ you! ...You don't even know me!"

Bill chuckled. "Cutie, we know each other just fine." It was a little under two weeks. That was enough time to get acquainted.

The kid was visibly unnerved, borderline panicked. "Oh my god, Bill. You… you're not kidding, holy shit." The realization seemed to crash over Dipper and to his disappointment, not a rush of affection followed. In fact, the sheer horror on his face couldn't have been farther from that.

And he was bringing his legs over the side of the car to get to his feet, shuffling the jacket off in the process. "I—" he took a step back, "I'm going to go find Wendy and Mabel."

"What?" No, no, no. He said he wouldn't do this. He would stay. Bill slid off the hood, moving to approach Dipper. He seemed adamant on backing away, keeping the same amount of space between them… playing hard to get, Bill believed. "You can't leave. You told me you wouldn't." Pine Tree wouldn't, right…? "Come on, cutie. You don't need those two– we can go together, we can marry and watch the fireworks whenever we want without them." Without those fuckers taking Dipper away from him.

"Bill, stop," it was a frightened whine and the familiarity of the words only added to his desperation to keep Dipper here after everything else had fallen apart, the kid truly looking like he was at a loss for once, "you're scaring me."

"Doll," Bill's voice was soft, "I don't understand. Don't you want this?"

"I. Don't. Know. You." He repeated.

"But you do!" Bill insisted. Did the fireworks turn his brain to mush or something? He was Bill Cipher, for stars' sake!

"No, dude! I don't! We've known each other… for what, _two weeks_?!"

Why was he denying this? "That's plenty of time to know each other, cutie! Why are you making this so hard on yourself?" Bill couldn't imagine why he wouldn't be jumping at the opportunity, but he realized something. "Is this because of the sex? Oh, my darling honeysuckle," he cooed with gushing affection, "don't worry your stars about that. I'll help you enjoy it."

Dipper was blinking at him again, looking so terrified, and he took a few more steps backward before spinning on his heels and leaving, going back to the pier.

And just like that, he was gone. Bill was alone, standing in the middle of the parking lot. No Dipper, no Bella — terrifyingly on his own, and he felt like a hollowed ghost as he grabbed his blazer and drifted into the driver's seat of his car to think.

He couldn't fathom this reality. He was _so sure_ they were meant to be together, so why had Dipper reacted in such a manner? Not understanding where he'd gone wrong, he recounted what'd happened: he kissed Dipper, the kid freaked out, and he'd given him the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to marry Bill Cipher.

Pulling down the visor to look at himself in the mirror, he frowned because the version of himself in the mirror didn't seem like the one he'd seen reflected in Dipper's eyes, and he hated it. Even so, in everything he'd done this evening, he'd been nothing but a _gentleman_.

Except…

Except he hadn't, Bill realized coldly.

There had been little to nothing between them, romantically-speaking, and he had tried to manipulate Dipper into thinking there was, tried to pressure and trick him into believing he desired more from their already fucked up relationship when it was very clearly something he hadn't wanted. Bill wished he could put a bullet through his brain because he'd kept pushing when Dipper had actually said he wasn't interested in anything else.

Neither of them really were, and he figured they both knew it. It'd been a spur of the moment decision on his part, fueled only by the grief of losing Bella.

No fucking wonder no one wanted to be around him. No wonder he was alone, the lingering thought of losing everything he liked in the back of his mind as he wondered if Dipper would even… still talk to him now, after finding out what an atrocious mess he was.

Sifting through the pocket of his slacks, he dug out the pack of cigarettes and stared at it in examination; it was nearly full, but he knew that still wouldn't be enough.

Stars, he needed a drink.


	11. breathing space

**A/N:** So a huge thanks and our endless appreciation to everybody who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed. That means a lot to us, seriously- we wish we could respond to you, but FFN doesn't have a seamless way to do that. If you're interested in engaging with us, we do reply to comments over at Ao3 (linked in profile) and there are significantly more chapters available on that version of the story.

And because FFN doesn't allow chat log chapters, one line of prose has been added to this chapter to abide by their guidelines.

* * *

The glow of the phone screen caught Dipper's attention, and he lifted the device to read what'd been sent to him.

( **11:49 PM)** _the stars are screaming at me_

( **11:49 PM)** _that i fucked up_

( **11:50 PM)** Yeah I can hear them from here heh...

( **11:50 PM)** _it's like i'm drowning_

( **11:50 PM)** _i can't stop hearing them_

( **11:52 PM)** _im sorry_

( **11:53 PM)** It's okay

( **11:53 PM)** _no_

( **11:53 PM)** _it's not_

( **11:53 PM)** _i fucked up_

( **11:53 PM)** _i shouldn't have done tha_

( **11:53 PM)** _t_

( **11:54 PM)** I get it, you were sad over Bella

( **11:54 PM)** I mean yeah you shouldn't have but it's done

( **11:54 PM)** Look, it's fine, really

( **11:54 PM)** _you were scared_

( **11:55 PM)** _like a kitten who got beat_

( **11:55 PM)** _i can't get it out of my mind_

( **11:55 PM)** I'm not scared of you dude, you're a big dork

( **11:56 PM)** I was just confused and kinda worried

( **11:56 PM)** I'm still worried, actually

( **11:56 PM)** Where are you? Mabel and I are already back at the penthouse, Wendy left a couple minutes ago

( **11:57 PM)** _on a shoulder somewhere_

( **11:57 PM)** Encouraging a cartoon character to make a bad decision?

( **11:58 PM)** _no_

( **11:58 PM)** Ugh I'm sorry, I know that was bad. It's weird I guess

( **11:58 PM)** Things with us

( **11:58 PM)** _the stars are angry with me_

( **11:58 PM)** _i need a drink_

( **11:58 PM)** You already smoke, can you give the lifespan reducing habits a break for just a second? So we can figure this out?

( **11:59 PM)** _if i die young it'll reduce the lifespan of a fuckup_

( **11:59 PM)** Chill, you're not a fuckup

( **11:59 PM)** _everything's awkward and shitty with us now, pine tree_

( **11:59 PM)** _i fucked up_

( **11:59 PM)** I was going to ask

( **12:00 AM)** You don't WANT to marry me, right?

( **12:00 AM)** _no…_

( **12:00 AM)** _no_

( **12:02 AM)** _the only person i'll marry is me_

( **12:02 AM)** Did you start drinking already or something, you're being extra narcissistic

( **12:02 AM)** _i like you but not like that_

( **12:02 AM)** Didn't think I'd ever hear you say that

( **12:06 AM)** _if i drink all the booze in a liquor store would i die_

( **12:06 AM)** Yeah because I'd kill you

( **12:06 AM)** Seriously don't do that

( **12:07 AM)** _pine tree_

( **12:07 AM)** Bill

( **12:08 AM)** _see ya on the other side :)_

( **12:08 AM)** For fuck's sake

( **12:08 AM)** Don't make this worse

* * *

( **3:03 AM)** _heqy cuftie_

( **3:03 AM)** _i dpno't know ewhere i aim_

( **3:04 AM)** _pi like vbutts_

( **3:04 AM)** Bill wtf it's 3 am

( **3:04 AM)** Ugh

( **3:04 AM)** Also why do you and Mabel text me about butts so much

( **3:04 AM)** You're drunk, aren't you

( **3:04 AM)** I told you not to do that

( **3:07 AM)** _wjhy are tehe lights flkashing_

( **3:07 AM)** _itq's likpe thie Ragve_

( **3:07 AM)** You're at a rave?

( **3:07 AM)** You know what, never mind. I'm getting Stan

( **3:08 AM)** _dno ni don't wtan umy adaddy_

( **3:08 AM)** Well you're getting him

( **3:09 AM)** _njo dayddy_

( **3:09 AM)** _nonly yommm_

( **3:09 AM)**...?

( **3:09 AM)** Mommy?

( **3:09 AM)** You want me to get Ford?

( **3:10 AM)** Do you know where you are at all?

( **3:10 AM)** Where were you last?

( **3:11 AM)** _in ouyr hmouth :(_

( **3:11 AM)** _that swhere i was jslat_

( **3:11 AM)** I swear to god Bill

( **3:11 AM)** Don't be difficult about this

( **3:12 AM)** I don't even care about the kiss

( **3:13 AM)** Are you okay?

( **3:13 AM)** _i am GRETA_

( **3:13 AM)** _the stalrs dfance_

( **3:13 AM)** You are so drunk

( **3:14 AM)** _you are_

( **3:14 AM)** _so...u...y_

( **3:14 AM)** _...o..._

( **3:14 AM)** Are you at a bar? I could give you a ride back

( **3:15 AM)** If you don't mind me taking one of your vehicles

( **3:17 AM)** _you can't drive you're drnku_

( **3:17 AM)** No?

( **3:17 AM)** I'm not

( **3:17 AM)** I'm freaking tired because you woke me up but it's whatever

( **3:18 AM)** _ji can leacve you ahlone_

( **3:18 AM)** No, don't

( **3:19 AM)** _pyou sleep_

( **3:19 AM)** I want to make sure you're okay so cooperate for a change

( **3:20 AM)** _i got another bottle oyf adams to kewep me xcompany_

( **3:20 AM)** Dude stop drinking

( **3:20 AM)** I'll keep you company if you really need it

( **3:20 AM)** _no yuo_

( **3:21 AM)** _neo you slewep_

( **3:21 AM)** I'm not going to sleep

( **3:22 AM)** _iyes you wifll_

( **3:22 AM)** Nope, tell me where you are

( **3:27 AM)** _hery ycutie_

( **3:27 AM)** _i jlike how teh stars look liek toyur birthmakr_

( **3:28 AM)** _sit reminds me olf you_

( **3:28 AM)** Yeah I know

( **3:28 AM)** You touch it basically all the time

( **3:28 AM)** _do you think i cofuld be a tsar_

( **3:28 AM)** Sure, but first are you somewhere safe at least

( **3:29 AM)** I'm wide awake, let me help

( **3:32 AM)** _i don't wneed help_

( **3:32 AM)** _only ehte cosmvos_

( **3:32 AM)** Don't care

( **3:33 AM)** You're getting help whether you need it or not

( **3:33 AM)** _sgleep pidne htroat_

( **3:34 AM)** _such msoft sktars_

( **3:34 AM)** You're being more frustrating than usual

( **3:34 AM)** And that's a feat

( **3:34 AM)** _they sing to hme_

( **3:34 AM)** _sayng joni us_

( **3:35 AM)** _and i rly want too_

( **3:35 AM)** There's plenty of time to be a star in a musical later

( **3:35 AM)** But for now, don't drink any more

( **3:35 AM)** _no_

( **3:35 AM)** _you fon'tt get yit_

( **3:36 AM)** _i want tlo be one fo pthem_

( **3:36 AM)** _TBHEM_

( **3:36 AM)** _i want to be lceletsiall_

( **3:36 AM)** Celestial beings don't tongue bottles of Sam Adams

( **3:36 AM)** _i cjhug_

( **3:36 AM)** They don't do that either dumbass

( **3:37 AM)** _fucdk ytou_

( **3:37 AM)** _gooodbye_

( **3:37 AM)** Are you fucking serious

* * *

( **5:14 AM)** Hi

( **9:48 AM)** Hello?

( **10:05 AM)** Bill?

( **12:12 PM)** Come on dude, I'm worried

( **2:38 PM)** Your Russian accent sucks

( **2:59 PM)** To be honest I thought for sure that'd get a reply, are you okay?

( **3:52 PM)** Bill

( **6:14 PM)** Billllll

( **7:02 PM)** Where are you, it's been like a day

( **9:21 PM)** It's rude to ignore your heterosexual life partner

( **11:02 PM)** Just answer me when you get a chance okay?

( **11:02 PM)** Even Stan's kinda concerned since nobody's seen you

( **11:25 PM)** I hope you're alright

* * *

( **2:18 PM)** _hey sugar_

( **2:18 PM)** Omg FINALLY

( **2:18 PM)** I never thought I'd actually be excited over a text from you

( **2:19 PM)** _i'm not alright_

( **2:19 PM)** _i've been staring at this gun for like, three hours_

( **2:19 PM)** _contemplating if i should just end it all_

( **2:19 PM)** Holy shit Bill

( **2:19 PM)** Don't you dare

( **2:19 PM)** If you do that I'll never speak to you again

( **2:19 PM)** _a little hard to talk to me if my brains are all over the car_

( **2:20 PM)** Exactly

( **2:20 PM)** _smartass_

( **2:20 PM)** You love it

( **2:20 PM)** _yeah_

( **2:20 PM)** _i shouldn't_

( **2:21 PM)** Why not? I'll have you know I'm unbelievably lovable

( **2:24 PM)** _everything i love_

( **2:24 PM)** _goes away in the end_

( **2:24 PM)** I can guarantee I'll never stop sassing you dude

( **2:24 PM)** You just make it too easy

( **2:24 PM)** _no_

( **2:25 PM)** _you'll just get taken away from me_

( **2:25 PM)** _like everything else_

( **2:25 PM)** I already told you I wasn't

( **2:25 PM)** I'm stuck with you, so you can't leave either

( **2:27 PM)** _okay_

( **2:27 PM)** Okay?

( **2:27 PM)** _yes_

( **2:28 PM)** You better not be thinking about it still

( **2:28 PM)** You didn't let me jump

( **2:28 PM)** You're not getting out either

( **2:29 PM)** _you couldn't hold me back with those noodle arms of yours_

( **2:29 PM)** And yet you still indulge me

( **2:29 PM)** Weird, huh?

( **2:29 PM)** _get used to it pine tree_

( **2:30 PM)** I'm going to assume that means you're not going anywhere

( **2:30 PM)** You're still a cockroach

( **2:30 PM)** _maybe someone else'll get me_

( **2:30 PM)** Get you? Dude nobody GETS you

( **2:30 PM)** We just put up with your weirdness because it's great

( **2:31 PM)** _get me as in shoot me_

( **2:32 PM)** ….

( **2:32 PM)** Bill..

( **2:32 PM)** That's not cool

( **2:32 PM)** _relax cutie_

( **2:33 PM)** No

( **2:33 PM)** _you're always so stiff_

( **2:33 PM)** _and it's not even your dick_

( **2:33 PM)** I'm not going to relax if you're basically telling me you might die

( **2:34 PM)** _let's be real here sugar_

( **2:34 PM)** _every day one of us might die_

( **2:34 PM)** _it's just how life is_

( **2:34 PM)** I was SO worried about you and now you do this

( **2:34 PM)** _look i'm not dead yet_

( **2:35 PM)** _maybe fordsy level of intelligent now..._

( **2:35 PM)** _actually no i can't get that low_

( **2:37 PM)** Don't make me stop talking to you

( **2:37 PM)** _hey_

( **2:37 PM)** What now

( **2:37 PM)** _my head is killing me_

( **2:37 PM)** Oh

( **2:38 PM)** Number of fucks your Pine Tree gives: 0

( **2:38 PM)** You should've listened to me when I told you to stop drinking

( **2:38 PM)** Just take some ibuprofen and stay hydrated, okay?

( **2:38 PM)** _i knew you didn't give fucks_

( **2:38 PM)** _that's why you're a virgin_

( **2:39 PM)** Number of fucks you'll get from me: 0

( **2:39 PM)** _number of fucks anyone gets from you: 0_

( **2:39 PM)** _forever tight_

( **2:41 PM)** _so hey cutie, i thought of something_

( **2:41 PM)** Wow, must've been hard work for you

( **2:41 PM)** _you remember when you brought up the god that is hugh hefner?_

( **2:41 PM)** Yeah, also I'm not being a playboy bunny for you

( **2:42 PM)** _aw damn_

( **2:42 PM)** _you'd make a good one_

( **2:42 PM)** _such a good bun_

( **2:42 PM)** _maybe i should get bunny ears for you.._

( **2:42 PM)** Well, you'd make a lame Hugh Hefner

( **2:43 PM)** You need to be a lot older and more Viagra-dependent

( **2:43 PM)** _oh_

( **2:43 PM)** _so stan_

( **2:43 PM)** Sure. I'll be a playboy bunny for him, why not

( **2:44 PM)** _i guess if you have a daddy kink_

( **2:44 PM)** Not really, but still more appealing than you

( **2:44 PM)** _says the kid who begged me to not kill myself_

( **2:44 PM)** Stan would've made me clean your stupid brains out of the car since he probably thinks we're dating

( **2:46 PM)** _if i set up my vehicle to drive into the ocean afterwards that'd help with the mess_

( **2:46 PM)** This isn't really a conversation I want to be having, dude

( **2:46 PM)** Don't hurt yourself

( **2:47 PM)** _the world's so shitty_

( **2:47 PM)** Would be more shitty without you

( **2:47 PM)** _don't be a fag kid_

( **2:47 PM)** Nope, you tease me about it all the time so now you have to accept my undying crush

( **2:47 PM)** _you're like the hot n cold song_

( **2:48 PM)** The one by Katy Perry?

( **2:48 PM)** _yeah, first you love me then you hate me_

( **2:48 PM)** _i kiss you and you leave_

( **2:48 PM)** Is this because I rejected your MARRIAGE proposal?

( **2:49 PM)** _look i could make a good housewife out of you_

( **2:51 PM)** You're not allowed to make any housewife comments but...

( **2:51 PM)** Do you want to have dinner at the penthouse?

( **2:51 PM)** I'm cooking tonight

( **2:53 PM)** _never thought i'd hear the day_

( **2:53 PM)** _you'd want me around for dinner_

( **2:54 PM)** Pays off to not kill yourself, doesn't it?

( **2:54 PM)** But you kinda flipped your shit over it a few days ago

( **2:54 PM)** So as long as you aren't a jackass, you're invited

( **2:55 PM)** _i'll try to behave…..mom_

( **2:55 PM)** You're uninvited

( **2:55 PM)** _well fuck_

( **2:55 PM)** _time to KMS_

( **2:55 PM)** BILL

( **2:56 PM)** _what_

( **2:56 PM)** Don't joke about that right now

( **2:56 PM)** _it was a good opportunity_

( **2:56 PM)** _anyway_

( **2:56 PM)** _i'll be back at the penthouse later_

( **2:57 PM)** Have fun watching the rest of us eat, you fuckwad

( **2:57 PM)** _i'm still uninvited?_

( **2:57 PM)** Yeah, you had literally one job

( **2:57 PM)** To not be a jackass

( **2:57 PM)** And you decided to be a jackass

( **2:58 PM)** _i guess i'll just pull a mabel and take your food_

( **2:58 PM)** She's the only one allowed to take my food

( **2:58 PM)** Because I actually like her

( **2:58 PM)** _oh okay_

( **2:59 PM)** _i see how it is_

( **3:01 PM)** _well if i steal stan's booze stash and frame you, it's not my fault :)_

( **3:01 PM)** Can't frame me. I'm under 21, remember?

( **3:01 PM)** _oh please, no one follows that law_

( **3:01 PM)** _just because you can't buy it doesn't mean you can't drink it_

( **3:02 PM)** Haven't ever tried it

( **3:02 PM)** _i'll fix that ;)_

( **3:02 PM)**?

( **3:02 PM)** _i think you'll like it_

( **3:03 PM)** Not really because I'd probably be a drunken idiot like you

( **3:03 PM)** _i'm not asking you to try a lot, pine tree_

( **3:03 PM)** _a little won't get you drunk_

( **3:03 PM)** Is this so you'll have a chance to kiss me and not get pushed away..?

( **3:06 PM)** _no_

( **3:06 PM)** _i don't want to do that_

( **3:07 PM)** Okay. Honestly, it's still kinda weird to me

( **3:07 PM)** I know you didn't mean anything by it, but I wish that hadn't been my first kiss

( **3:07 PM)** Ah sorry

( **3:07 PM)** I don't want to offend you — not right now at least. I guess it was nice, just not exactly… what I expected?

( **3:07 PM)** I don't know, it's hard to describe

( **3:10 PM)** _you deserve a better one_

( **3:11 PM)** It doesn't matter, it's not a big deal

( **3:11 PM)** Also, you're the only one crazy enough to kiss me

( **3:11 PM)** _don't sell yourself short, pine tree_

( **3:11 PM)** Oh fuck off

( **3:11 PM)** I know that's a height joke

( **3:12 PM)** And I fucking hate you so damn much

( **3:12 PM)** _sorry you can't get rid of me so easily_

( **3:12 PM)** Is this why you didn't let me jump

( **3:12 PM)** So you could punish me with this

( **3:12 PM)** _those tiny feet can't crush my cockroach armor_

( **3:12 PM)** THEY'RE SIZE EIGHT ASSHAT

( **3:13 PM)** _size eight in kids_

( **3:14 PM)** I'm leaving

( **3:14 PM)** _bye cutie_

( **3:14 PM)** _see you at dinner_

* * *

( **1:50 PM)** _so sugar_

( **1:50 PM)** _are we good_

( **1:52 PM)** That's kind of vague

( **1:52 PM)** _is that a yes_

( **1:52 PM)** Are we good ... actors? No, just you. Good crossdressers? Just me.

( **1:52 PM)** See I don't know what you're asking

( **1:53 PM)** _are we on good terms_

( **1:53 PM)** Questionable after what you did at dinner last night but

( **1:53 PM)** Are you done being a total jerk yet?

( **1:53 PM)** _i meant over what happened at the pier_

( **1:53 PM)** _but no_

( **1:53 PM)** _a tiger can't change his stripes kid_

( **1:53 PM)** Bumblebee* :)

( **1:53 PM)** _fuckyoubee_

( **1:54 PM)** Buzz buzz motherfucker

( **1:54 PM)** _buzz off_

( **1:56 PM)** _but seriously pine tree, you gotta tell me if we're good_

( **1:56 PM)** _shit's awkward enough with me and red, you and i don't need to add to that_

( **1:56 PM)** _and i didn't even sleep with you_

( **1:59 PM)** Um..

( **1:59 PM)** _no, got it_

( **1:59 PM)** _time to burn down the penthouse_

( **2:00 PM)** Dude, why is it constantly the extremes with you

( **2:00 PM)** And how would that even help?

( **2:00 PM)** _because if i can't have you..._

( **2:01 PM)** _no one can :)_

( **2:01 PM)** Hey, maybe you can

( **2:01 PM)** Just gotta turn on that Bill Cipher charm

( **2:01 PM)** _pretty sure you have a natural Bill Resistance_

( **2:01 PM)** Oh no that's just an aversion to dumbasses

( **2:02 PM)** _yet you talk to me anyway_

( **2:02 PM)** You entertain me, cutie!

( **2:02 PM)** Yes, I am mocking you

( **2:03 PM)** _i can mock you too_

( **2:03 PM)** _oh look at me i'm pine tree, i'm so smart and everyone else is dumb but shooting star since she's my sister and i love her don't you look at her i'll fight you with my noodle arms_

( **2:03 PM)** Oh right I punched you in the jaw and it was amazing

( **2:03 PM)** I feel bad over that still, but it was kind of satisfying

( **2:03 PM)** _it was like a kitten licked me_

( **2:04 PM)** Mm I have to say, you're not quite on the path to winning me back

( **2:04 PM)** _same_

( **2:04 PM)** Resort to burning it down?

( **2:04 PM)** _i'll burn you up_

( **2:04 PM)** I'm already too hot for you

( **2:05 PM)** _you'll be even hotter when i pour gasoline over you and light you up_

( **2:05 PM)** Shall I get ready to run down Main Avenue?

( **2:05 PM)** _yes_

( **2:06 PM)** _i'll record it and post it to vine_

( **2:06 PM)** Vine's dead you dinosaur

( **2:06 PM)** _i'll make a new one_

( **2:06 PM)** _Vine 2.0_

( **2:06 PM)** Ooaaauuuoooo

( **2:06 PM)** That's the noise dinosaurs like you make

( **2:07 PM)** Okay but VINEOSAUR

( **2:07 PM)** That's what you are

( **2:08 PM)** _don't make me kill you_

( **2:08 PM)** I'm too short for your tiny T-rex arms to reach

( **2:08 PM)** _bye_

( **2:09 PM)** Wait

( **2:09 PM)** _no_

( **2:09 PM)** I wasn't done making fun of you, get back here

( **2:10 PM)** Bill

( **2:10 PM)** Come on

( **2:12 PM)** This is really super important

( **2:12 PM)** _did timmy fall down the well, lassie?_

( **2:12 PM)** _if not then it can't be that important_

( **2:12 PM)** Woof bring me Pop-Tarts when you come over later, we ran out

( **2:14 PM)** Please

( **2:14 PM)** _i'll bring you the crumbs ;)_

( **2:14 PM)** _seriously, though. i'll bring your dumb poptarts_

( **2:15 PM)** _what flavor_

( **2:15 PM)** _strawberry right?_

( **2:15 PM)** Yeah

( **2:16 PM)** You're still the worst but thanks 3

( **2:16 PM)** _don't mention it pine tree_

( **2:17 PM)** _i'll be there in a few hours with your poptarts_

( **2:17 PM)** _just be glad i'm not gonna make you thank me with a kiss_

( **2:17 PM)** Dude

( **2:17 PM)** _too soon huh?_

( **2:18 PM)** Just bring the Pop-Tarts

( **2:19 PM)** _yes dear_


	12. Chapter 12

One loud _BANG_ had the cashier's brains splattered against the back wall of the convenience store, body falling to a mangled heap while Bill watched through the scope of his gun, lowering it after a moment. Robbie was busy trying to count the money they'd gotten from the register and the safe, holding it up inches from his face since he seemed to be struggling to see through his raven mask. A string of curses tumbled from him. "Ivan's going to _fuck_ us. This isn't nearly enough."

Bill stepped around the counter to examine the cashier's corpse, taking his gold colored watch from around his wrist and sliding it into a pocket with a mental note to drop it off at his place in Paleto Bay. The cashier wouldn't be needing this anymore. "No shit, it's a convenient store. Not a bank." What did he expect? They were walking away from this with a decent amount all things considered.

The reply was harsh, "We don't have the manpower anymore to take a bank." Robbie glared for a second, then went back to organizing the cash. Overreacting as was the norm, he went on, "You want to deal with this? Fine, you take the fucking money to Ivan. Enjoy getting a hole in your head after he realizes you can't pay up."

"You're the one in debt, Valentino. Remember that." Ivan could try to shoot him, Bill could outgun him any day. Unlike Robbie the bitch, he wasn't afraid to stand up to the other gang. He grabbed the cash from Robbie and, on the way out, a box of strawberry Pop-Tarts for the kid. Nobody would miss it or even notice its disappearance.

The thought of Dipper reminded him that he was needed for one of Stan's dumb meetings, and he swore softly under his breath. There wasn't enough time in the day to deal with all this bullshit. Outside, he didn't hang around– after he deposited the gun into the trunk, Bill got in his car without waiting for Thompson or Robbie.

"Where are you going?" Thompson's voice cracked outside the door, the brown bear mask pressing against his window. "The cops are coming, dude!"

"Yeah, so find another way out of here. Not my problem." But he'd probably get chewed out by either Robbie or Gideon later. He stepped on the gas, car shooting down the street and once he was certain he was out of view of police or any other witnesses, he tucked the owl mask and top hat away.

By the time he arrived at the door to the penthouse, he was gasping for air. He'd slipped into a change of clothes, rushed up from the garage, conquered the several flights of stairs in between, and now he was ready to collapse in a heap of exhaustion. Stars, he wished he was a celestial being and not just when he was drunk. He wouldn't be trapped in such an easily-fatigued form.

Upon entering, he was greeted by the sound of Mabel's whining. "Come on, Stan! Pleaseeee? Dipper and I _really_ want to help out!"

Stan and Ford were on the sectional sofa with maps on the coffee table and a whiteboard nearby, meanwhile Mabel and Dipper hovered over their shoulders like two helicopter parents.

"Mabel, I'm okay with sitting this one out and maybe you should too." Dipper sounded concerned, and hadn't sensed his presence yet, seemingly too distracted by his discussion with Stan and Mabel.

Stan's voice was a bark, "I said no, sweetie! This is too dangerous for you two! Seriously, the last thing you kids want is a criminal record under your belts. You have a hell of a lot more potential than these clowns." He jabbed his finger back at Bill and Ford. Ouch. But neither twin seemed to notice, Mabel voicing various reasons why they would be an asset to them and Dipper giving anxious reminders of how dangerous it was.

"Stanley, try to focus," Ford chided. "There's a lot of information to get through."

"How can I?! These little brats keep fluttering around me like annoying birds! Shoo, you two! Especially you Mabel! We have work to do."

Despite voicing his agreement and trying to lead Mabel away from the brothers, Dipper seemed to give up when it was clear she wasn't budging, and he glanced away in frustration. His gaze swept the room only to land on him, brightening instantly as he rushed over. "Did you bring them?" It was an excited question, almost childishly so over _a box of Pop-Tarts_. Jesus, maybe he should try courting him with a napkin or a stick and then the kid would let him smash. He'd give him some yellow.

"Hi cutie, you look like you're having fun without me." Bill didn't care to involve himself in the drama that was Mabel wanting to go on a heist. It wasn't his problem. "Of course I did. Here ya go, sugar." He pulled the box of strawberry Pop-Tarts out of his bag, careful to hide the money within.

He'd never seen anyone snatch something away faster than Dipper did with the Pop-Tarts. "I usually do have fun without you. It's surprisingly easy." Dipper didn't wait for a response, slipping into the kitchen while the box was held tightly in those thieving hands of his.

He didn't believe that Dipper could have fun without him for a second, but the sound of Stan yelling at _him_ stole his attention away from the departing kid. Damn, he wanted to sneak in after Dipper and grab that little ass. Hadn't had a chance to do that recently, not that he was surprised after he pulled an embarrassing move on Dipper during a moment of weakness. He didn't want to test the boundaries further by pushing his limits, but at least he got a dinner with Dipper's cooking out of it. Despite supposedly being uninvited, he'd still cheekily managed to steal food, to which Dipper squawked and bitched at him all night over and when it came to his cooking… well, the kid wasn't bad with his noodle fingers. "Hey, asshole! Why the fuck were ya late?"

"Sorry Daddy, you're not my priority."

Stan glowered at him. "I should be! You–"

"Quit bickering," Ford said sternly. "We've already wasted enough time as it is, and now that Bill is here, we can continue without an issue. Reprimand him later."

Much to Bill's amusement, Stan still looked like he wanted to kill him for being late even as he took a seat on the sofa. Sucked to be Stan, they all knew Ford was the one behind the Big Daddy's bravado.

It always annoyed Bill how both the Owls and the Ravagers INSISTED on going over the heist plan even after they did recon. Bill already knew the plan, and he didn't care about the _small details_ they tried to pound into him. He was more of a 'go with the flow' kind of guy, more wiggle room if things went awry.

Something, something, something, rob an armored car full of money, something something. Yes, he got it. Where was SparkNotes when he needed it? "Cut to the chase, Stan. I'm not Soos. He's not even here right now."

"He would be, if we hadn't had time to go over the entire mission plan with him _and_ Wendy before you even arrived, jackass."

"I'm glad that's catching on," Dipper said in reference to the name, a Pop-Tart in hand as he plopped himself down on the sectional sofa next to Mabel.

Bill could hear Mabel whining about how the mission plan wasn't complete without them, but he was focused on Dipper. He scowled at him, and made a point of darting over to the couch to snatch the Pop-Tart from his hands. "Guess you don't want this!"

Dipper—that conniving little fuck—seized his moment of distraction to dart a hand out and retract it quickly, clutching… clutching _his fucking bowtie_. "Guess you don't want this."

Of course, he did the only rational thing a man in this situation could do. He shoved the Pop-Tart in Dipper's mouth, ignoring the crumbs from the broken pastry and angry muffled _mmph!_ noise that came from the back of Dipper's throat, and used that opportunity to retrieve his bowtie.

"Knock it off you two!" Bill heard Stan hollering, but he really couldn't care less.

Instead, he snickered at Pine Tree, who was trying to work down the giant mouthful of Pop-Tart while recovering any chunks of pastry that he could. "Enjoying your Pop-Tart?"

Glaring, Dipper flipped him off with both hands.

"Aw, it seems I've left you struggling for words. Don't worry cutie, there are more Pop-Tarts where that came from." There was a muffled but very clear 'fuck you' directed at him.

Mabel giggled at that. "Fight! Fight! Fight!" In a lower voice, she added: "Kiss! Kiss!" Bill's blood ran cold. ...Did Dipper tell her about… that? There was a sinking feeling in his chest that he had, and he realized he'd need to talk to him, alone.

Turning back to Dipper, he didn't have a chance to say anything before Ford exasperatedly snapped, " _Try_ to control yourself, Cipher."

Bill looked at Ford with a weak grin. "I'm not the one cussing, Big Hen." Like the Big Mommy to Stan's Big Daddy, just with owls.

Ford sighed. "But you _are_ an adult, aren't you? At times, I wonder."

"I'm more of an adult than you are, Mr. Can't Get Laid."

"When was the last time _you_ got laid?" Dipper challenged teasingly, cutting into the conversation now that he'd gotten the Pop-Tart fiasco taken care of, but Bill still wanted to have a chat with him about Mabel.

He smirked at Dipper. "More recently than you, virgin Mary. Anyway, are we done with the heist rundown bullshit? I got stuff I need to do." Specifically, he needed to take care of what was in his bag. That exchange with Blind Ivan wasn't going to resolve itself.

"No!" Mabel exclaimed to Stan. "You haven't told me what we're going to do for the heist! You can't leave us out of it!"

Dipper pointed out, "Actually, I think he can—"

"And I will," Stan finished. "Heist rundown's over, thank fuck. I thought it'd never be done with you two idiots fucking around and fighting, even Mabel was better behaved."

She pouted despite his semi-compliment, sinking into the couch with a dejected expression. "Dippy and I can be helpful! It's not fair!" Life wasn't fair, but Bill didn't care enough to tell her that. Maybe she'd learn in another twenty years.

It seemed she was almost immediately over it, anyway, with how she jumped up from the couch after a moment and headed into the kitchen.

"Thanks for your vote of confidence, Daddy."

Under his breath, Dipper muttered, "Well, you _are_ an idiot."

Bill laughed at Dipper. "I'm not the one who couldn't stay in college. I graduated _early_." Top of his class in both high school and college. He was proud of his academic prowess.

"You texted me 'I like butts.' Nice going, graduate."

"I was _drunk_ , dumbass." He could murder this kid, here and now. Sometimes he wanted to. Out of the corner of his eye, Bill could see Stan frustratedly throwing his arms up in the air and leaving the room, with Ford following close behind.

"Drunk off lust for my adorable butt."

Spurred on by a burst of anger, he couldn't resist the opportunity and snarled, "Drunk off the thought of dying from an overdose. You fucking like that, Pine Tree?" It wasn't that he didn't think Dipper's ass was cute, or that he was really mad _at_ him, it was the implication of him being a homosexual and a reminder of Mabel's chant. Bill still felt a little betrayed that he told her about… that kiss.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Dipper seemed stunned and cast his eyes downward, fidgeting with the sleeves of his plaid shirt. Fuck. That familiar post-kiss awkwardness was back in the space between them, the one he'd been trying to avoid, the one they'd both been trying to ignore was an issue. But it was more pronounced when they were the only two here, nobody else to act as a buffer between them as they had been before. His hands moved to the shirt's buttons for seconds that felt like minutes that turned into imaginary hours, he finally muttered, "Bill.."

He hated that awkwardness more than he hated himself. "What?" his voice dropped, losing the edge of anger in replacement of tiredness. "You going to tell me more about how fucking stupid I am, Pine Tree?"

A shuddering exhale escaped Dipper, and he shook his head. He looked uncertain, like he was trying to judge the situation but couldn't quite get a hold on it, and soon gave up entirely with a defeated, "I'm going to get another Pop-Tart. Do you want anything?" That gave Bill pause, the kid _never_ asked if he wanted anything before — just gave him things he didn't like, such as defiant sass or ridiculous temper tantrums.

"No." Bill was beginning to want to hit the bottle again, but he didn't need the kid getting him alcohol. Why did things have to be so fucked up between them? He just wanted to return to the way it had been before and didn't know why they couldn't seem to fall back into place. "I hope it's as fruity as you are."

As he rose from the sofa to go to the kitchen, Dipper attempted to shoot a pathetic half smile in his direction but it looked hollow, more like a grimace. Then, he disappeared through the small entryway.

After a couple minutes, Bill began to head toward the door and picked up the bag he'd dropped there. He had no purpose here now, and he still needed to bring the cash to the other crew. "I'm leaving," he called out as he rested his hand on the doorknob. Waiting.

The sounds of footsteps rushing toward him came with satisfaction. Good. Dipper _should_ be running after him– he was a catch after all.

It wasn't Dipper. His expression fell flat.

Mabel was dashing into the room like she was being chased by a serial killer. "Where're you going? Can I come?" She gasped. "Can you take me to Pacifica?"

But hearing the commotion, Dipper did wander out of the kitchen with an already almost-eaten pastry in hand, watching the two from a distance.

"Uh… okay." He didn't really want to, but it wasn't horribly out of his way. And maybe it'd get her to shut her yap, he was getting a little tired of it.

The tiniest flicker of unhappiness was written across Dipper's expression. Finishing the last of the pastry, he advanced toward them while saying, "I'll go with too. Not to Pacifica's, but..." a shrug ended his sentence, signaling he really didn't know where he was going.

Oh, so he _finally_ decided he wanted to join the party. "Fine." Bill didn't wait for them, swinging open the door and heading downstairs to the garage.

* * *

Bored and impatient, his eyes moved to his vehicle's digital clock. This was taking _forever_ , how long did they need just to say some dumb goodbyes?

The twins stood outside of the vehicle, Dipper leaned against the closed passenger door while they chatted, and it seemed the discussion was ending at last with a hug as Mabel departed, and Dipper got back into the car.

And they were alone again, just him and Dipper, and he knew the awkwardness would inevitably make an inconvenient reappearance in their lives. For now, Bill tried to ignore that and took the car out of park, leaving the Northwests' huge mansion gates in the rear view mirror.

"So where are we going?" Dipper asked, peering at him.

We? "I have some business _I_ have to take care of. You're not going in with me." Because if he did, he'd probably fuck them both over and get them killed with his nerdiness. This was the real world, not a canvas Dipper could stroke whenever he wanted in whichever way he cared to.

"Don't need a crossdressing date this time?" Dipper asked, snarkiness returning. Maybe that was a good start on the road to normalcy between them.

"No, sorry cutie but I don't _need_ you that frequently. You only joined me last time because Stacey didn't seem to think crossdressers existed."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you don't need me," he rolled his eyes, "because if you did, I'm sure you wouldn't have just left without making a show of it."

He scowled faintly at him. "I lingered in case your sister or you decided you wanted to hitch a ride. I _don't_ need you, Pine Tree. If anything, _you_ need me." Because without Bill, would Dipper even have a friend?

"Sure, I do," Dipper scoffed. "Without you around, who would make crude sexual comments at the worst times or grab my ass?"

"Stan." Not really, but he wouldn't tell Dipper otherwise.

There was the tiniest, fleeting smile on the kid's lips. "As if. He's not nearly as enamored with me."

"I'm not enamored with you. Stop being so obsessed with me, kid."

He gave a shrug. "Don't want me to boost your massive ego from now on? Fine, I won't."

A part of Bill craved the attention and enjoyed it, but another wanted to dive out onto the road because _he wasn't a fucking fag_. "Are you going to actually stop?"

"Yep," he responded simply, "it's probably for the best. Your ego's huge, dude. Compensating for something?"

"Your lack of a personality."

Dipper laughed at that. Bill wanted to crash the vehicle and kill them both. "You could've done so much better, and I don't just mean with that reply."

He didn't get Dipper's response at first, caught up in the thought of it being all about _him_. "Fuck off, kid. I'm not the lost puppy here. You can't go anywhere without clinging to my side."

With a tight sigh, he said, "Calm down, I meant the kiss."

"Oh, _that_. You want to explain why you told Mabel about it?" Anger crept in his voice. "I thought you wanted to pretend it never happened, but she seemed _awfully_ eager to see it in action."

Dipper waited until he was done speaking. "Hey, I don't kiss and tell, but I also don't remember anything about pretending it never happened." There was a pause, and he added, "We can do that, though."

Bill's irritated frown was unwavering. "You never kissed before. Also, _you_ were the one who freaked out and left. Like it wasn't _good enough_ for the virgin." Nevermind the fact Bill almost killed himself over it and the proposal, but that wasn't the point.

"That… wasn't because of the kiss," he admitted softly. "I was going to stay, but you… you were pressuring me to marry you and talking about— about _eloping_ and having sex, and stuff."

"Never too late to take me up on the offer," he abruptly reminded him. "The sex, not the marriage. That's not really my thing."

Dipper's line of sight briefly fluttered to his own hand, searching, then back to Bill. "I'm not sure how it _could_ be your thing when even your last resort rejected you." There was a lack of malice in his words, a small smile on his face. "I think I'll pass on the sex. I'm hoping that if I wait long enough, I'll evolve into a super-virgin, and it'll be fun to watch you implode from the sexual frustration."

That was worthy of a scoff. Dipper wasn't his last resort, not that Bill _needed_ one. If he _wanted_ to get married, he could marry _anyone_ he wanted. Because he was so desirable, and incredibly handsome, and everyone knew that. "It's like you're a shitty discount superhero. The Super-Virgin: living in a basement playing DnD since 1998. You'd make Jerry Siegel turn over in his grave."

"Guess that makes you a shitty discount villain," Dipper snickered. "Pretends to be a big, bad guy but is actually kind of nice and can't deny the Super-Virgin." There was a blueish brightness in the corner of his vision, a phone screen illuminating as Dipper thumbs tapped away, typing something. "Oh. So that's who that is."

Bill faintly chuckled. "I'd make a good Mr. Freeze though." Considering the DC villain lost his wife because of his asshole boss, and Bill lost his puppies because of his dickhead parents. "Stars, Pine Tree. You didn't know who Siegel was? You're a horrible nerd."

"I don't read many superhero comics, okay?" Dipper defended himself with a huff, working his phone back into his pocket as he spared a glance his way. "Honestly, all I can think about is that Snow Miser song. I hope you appreciate my use of references from your day."

"Do you even _know_ that song," Bill challenged him playfully, "or did you have to look it up on your phone?" That earned a heated protest but he didn't respond; the car was pulling up to a parking garage entrance, Bill maneuvering the vehicle inside. "Okay, Pine Tree. I'm going to park and you're going to stay here."

Dipper appeared to be suspended between wanting to argue over that—the kid did have an authority problem with him specifically, it was annoying—and a look of frightened wonder. Finally, he said, "Okay, don't take too long."

Bill only shrugged at that. "We'll have to see. I don't plan on staying long but there may be hangups." Mostly because he was shortchanging them, but Dipper didn't need to know that.

"Hangups like… might take an extra five minutes, or hangups like we're going to have the entire Los Santos Police Department after us?"

"Only one way to find out!" Bill laughed at Dipper's horror as he parked his vehicle and exited the car. After ensuring his pistol was on him, he pawed through the bag of money to place a fraction of the cut on his person, leaving the rest behind, then departed to walk across the aisle in confident strides.

The members of the Blind Eye Society were always a little… odd, in his opinion, with their matching robes and their stoicism, but they were never unprofessional, so he couldn't complain. They kept to themselves and stayed clear of the dramatic, petty shit between gangs, but he wasn't a fool, he knew they could be ruthless if they were crossed. The gang's neutrality wouldn't protect him from that, so he was ready for this meeting to go down sourly if they were going to take Valentino's debts out on him.

"Ah, Bill Cipher," greeted a tall, pale man. His working eye swept over him in a cursory motion. It was strange to do work for the Ravagers without his owl mask on, but he knew Ivan wasn't a threat to giving his identity away. He had already known who he was, his affiliations, and they worked together on more than one occasion. The Blind Eye Society was secretive in nature, to the point where prior to their contact, Bill hadn't even been able to find them. They had to reach out to him. Things were different with Dipper… Bill knew that the second he put on the golden owl mask, the kid would flip his shit out over the revelation Bill was in the gang that iced his parents. "We've been awaiting your arrival."

Bill similarly scanned the Blind Eye Society members, easily determining Ivan had come with Sprott and Tats even with red robes partially shielding their faces.

Attention settling on the leader, he commented, "Good Cosmos, Ivan. You're looking even more zombie-ish than I remember. Has it really been so bad for the Eyes that you've resorted to doing meth?" Almost instantly, he had a gun in his face. Bill wasn't fazed, glancing at the muscular man with disinterest. It seemed his temper was as short as his intelligence, considering he needed to label his body parts with ink.

Blind Ivan made a tsking noise and used a wiry hand to lower the gun. "Not so fast, Tats. I believe Mr. Cipher owes us something, isn't that right?"

Good one, 'owe.' Bill didn't owe them shit, it wasn't his fault Robbie was a dumbass who decided the Society of the Blind Eye would be getting the majority of _their_ cut. There was rarely a moment where he didn't hate that emo. "Sure, _Wexler_. Whatever you say." He pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket, handing it over to the thin male.

Blind Ivan took the money, carding through the bills. "And the rest?" he prompted after a second, but his voice had grown cold.

"That's all there was," Bill informed him. Tats had raised the gun in his face again, but he wasn't relenting. "What did you seriously expect? It was a convenience store, not a fucking bank."

"Valentino promised there'd be more than this." A snap of his fingers, and Sprott lifted his own gun to point it at him, bringing the grand total of barrels staring him down to two. More dangerously, Ivan added, "He has a debt to pay. Hand over the rest."

How about no? It was his money, not theirs. "Yeah, it's not my fault Robbie owes you dipshits some odd bucks. If you want that, you gotta take it up with the Edgelord. It's not my fault you made bad investment choices." Since they decided they wanted to try to _intimidate_ him, Bill withdrew his own gun, cocking it.

"If I were you, I'd choose your next words very carefully, Cipher."

Tats jabbed the gun closer, the barrel grazing his jawline while Sprott kept his distance, but he could see the trigger finger shaking, as if he was itching to pull it. Or too afraid, most likely. Careful to avoid showing any signs of fear, Bill answered evenly, "Yeah, shoot me and you'll never get the rest of your money from Valentino. You'd be down thirty grand and have to deal with the bullet hole in your own–"

There was a throat being cleared in impatience, a familiar sound. To his left, an unexpected voice resounded, "I don't mean to interrupt whatever... this is, but you have a phone call."

Fucking. Dipper.

Bill shot him a murderous glare, tempted to turn the gun on the kid after explicitly telling him to stay put. The little shit, now wasn't the time. "So end it."

Dipper's eyes were shifting between the four of them, looking a little nervous. "This, uh, Pentagram or whatever? He _really_ wants to talk." Bill didn't give a flying fuck about what Gideon wanted. He knew he'd be busy, so fuck him.

" _Mason Pines_?" Blind Ivan spoke with his gaze trained on Dipper, sounding nothing short of astonished. In his peripherals, Bill could see Sprott lowering his gun again, just as mystified by the new presence. Interesting.

Dipper's eyes were huge, as if he couldn't believe he had been correctly identified — it was amusing in a way how he was so clueless to the fact that he and his sister were the recent gossip of the major crime gangs in Los Santos since they'd walked away from the massacre. Looking uncertain, he didn't seem to know what to say.

"The one and only," Bill changed his tune, lowering his own gun as he stepped over to Dipper and threw his arm around him. He was relishing in every moment in which shock painted the faces of the Society of the Blind Eye's crew members. "Mason, darling, is the call still going?"

And Dipper… he was positively _blushing_ , cheeks adopting a deep crimson color while he eased into the touch. "No, he just said to call him back."

Bill wouldn't be doing that, but he was enjoying the redness of Dipper's face. "I see, thank you, _cherry_." He took his phone back, slipping it into his pocket. Acutely aware of Blind Ivan's gaze, he went on in a sugary-sweet tone, "Is that the only reason you came out, doll?"

Although Dipper opened his mouth to respond, he was cut off by Blind Ivan. "How are you affiliated with… with him?" The stony question was directed at Bill.

"Isn't it obvious?" Bill asked with gleaming eyes. "We're _engaged_ , Ivan. He's my fiancé." Seeing the look on Blind Ivan's face was beyond priceless

He stared at them for a long couple of seconds, and by now, even Tats had taken the gun off of him to stare in awe. "Engaged," Ivan repeated, skeptical. "Are you engaged, or is he a... _commodity_? If you will."

Briefly panicked by the implication, Dipper answered that for him, "We're engaged." Bill was pleased Pine Tree went along with it, and he subtly puffed up his chest. He'd give the kid a treat for that.

And the confirmation seemed to perplex Ivan even further, but he finally nodded. "I see…" he muttered slowly. "That's— quite intriguing, Cipher, to entertain such a relationship with the son of a former senator and mayor." Given his status as a renowned criminal of Los Santos, it truly was.

"What can I say?" Bill's laugh was short. "I like being around that family. Hey, are we done here, or are you still going to try to get money out of me?" Still wasn't going to happen, that was _his_.

Ivan's eyes flicked from Bill to Dipper, eventually sliding to Bill. "I believe our business here is done. Unsee you later."

Thank stars, he didn't want to get blood on his suit. "Good riddance. Come on, Mason, we have a backseat to break in." That elicited an embarrassed squeak and _oh_ , if he wasn't red already, his eyes had a glazed over look to them. Although he knew they weren't really going to go fuck in the back of his car, he always enjoyed Dipper's reaction to sexual implications.

They split apart, and soon were both safely back in his car, Bill internally gloating over his victory in this confrontation.

Propping his feet onto the dash, Dipper seemed far from amused as he folded his arms and asked, "Do you want to tell me why there were two guns pointed at you?"

"A minor argument over money because of one of my employers. It's resolved now." Bill waved away Dipper's concern in favor of pulling out of the parking garage. "I took most of the cut, they thought it was short, they became convinced otherwise. The usual."

"You're saying you intentionally cheated them," he pointed out dryly. "Be glad you made it out of that unscathed." There was a moment of consideration, a suddenly mischievous look creeping onto his face, and he said, "Seems like you might need me after all."

No. He didn't need Dipper. Probably.

Okay, maybe he did. Not _need_ Dipper, but wanted Dipper. How else could they be the Los Santos Power Couple? If what happened back there was any indication, the other gangs would bow before them, give him anything he wanted. The Blind Eye Society was just the beginning– with Pine Tree at his side, would the other gangs react the same? It was a huge status symbol to have the mayor and senator's spawn in his pocket. High profile criminal meets high profile politician's kid, it was perfect, gangs and his favorite officials—the corrupt ones—would lap it up like cats presented with a bowl of milk. Besides, if they were the Power Couple, Dipper couldn't leave. All he'd have to do was warm up Dipper to the idea, maybe make a few phone calls... Realizing he hadn't yet replied and instead had been entertaining thoughts of ultimate control, he answered, "You're drastically underestimating my ability to take out three amateurs. I would've been fine without you, _Mason_." He still liked being able to use that.

Bill watched as the kid fidgeted, noting how that adorable blush was back, and Dipper swallowed thickly. "Oh, right. I was going to remind you to call back that Penta.. um, Pentagon guy? When I picked up the phone, he sounded pretty mad." Probably for leaving in the middle of a job, oh well. Wasn't like they could actually punish him for it since he was an integral part of what the Ravagers had left.

"He can wait a while. It was stupid of him to call when he knows I was dealing with the money transfer." The thought of Dipper telling Gideon who he was occurred to him, and he frowned. "Did you… tell him your name or anything?" If Gideon knew about Dipper being alive, or how Robbie wanted the kids dead, that could be an issue.

Dipper grinned shyly. "When he asked who I was, I… I may have told him I was 'Bill's heterosexual life partner' and I think he liked that? Maybe a little too much, he kind of started… hitting on me, calling me some weird endearments. Pretty sure he thought I was a girl, and he wanted to take me on a date."

At that, Bill chuckled. "You are pretty girly." It was a huge part of why being a _heterosexual_ life partner worked. "Did he call you like, my queen and shit?"

Nodding, Dipper couldn't hold back his laughter. "Yeah, he did."

"You should've told him you're _my_ queen, doll." He reached over to flick his knee, and must have been on a roll today with abusing the kid's sweet spots because Dipper's cheeks were taking on a lovely shade of red _again_ and it was wonderful. "You've been rather adorable, cherry, with all that redness."

"It's _hot_ today and I have flannel on," Dipper protested, motioning to his clothing, "and jeans." Oh, the kid could blame the weather all he wanted for this, but Bill knew better, especially when he was sitting in an air-conditioned vehicle. Seemingly trying to steer the subject away, Dipper asked, "What was with those guys? They apparently knew me?"

Now that was another thing Dipper didn't need to know much about. "They recognized you from the news. It's nothing important, cutie."

Dipper didn't seem entirely convinced, and Bill could almost hear the gears grinding in his mind. "Okay, it just seemed… weird, their reactions, asking how we were 'affiliated.'"

He didn't want to talk about this, not yet. "So, hey cutie," he tried to move on, "didn't Pentagram ask you on a date or something?"

"Mm-hmm, it was a little creepy how he asked. Over-the-top and hyperbolic." Dipper shot him a sideways glance, a smirk hiding in the corner of his lips. "A bit like you, when you were asking me to elope, but I think he meant it. Maybe I should take him up on the offer."

"Or… idea! I take you on a better date. Pentagram's would be too lame for you, kid. Let me dazzle you."

Visibly amused, his eyebrows raised. "Alright," he agreed, sweetly albeit exaggeratedly saying, " _dazzle_ me, Bill. Just keep the illegal activities to a minimum, okay? And I don't know what you usually do on dates, but to be clear, no proposing and we're not ' _breaking in the backseat'_ after this."

He laughed. "I have a bed, cutie. We don't need to use the backseat."

Dipper didn't look impressed. "I meant that metaphorically, but I'll rephrase: we're not going to be having sex, regardless of location."

"You say that now, but you'll be bending over for me after this date." Bill paused in thought. "Hey, can you text Mabel to see when she wants to be picked up?" Needed to know how much time they had.

"Sure." Dipper had his phone out in a second, drafting a message to Mabel. After a pause, there was a vibration and he reported, "She says to give her a couple more hours, so that should give you plenty of time to dazzle."

Hadn't she pulled that before? Bill wouldn't be surprised if this turned out to be where she just stayed over to fuck. "Oh, it will. Buckle up because soon you'll be seeing stars, _Mason_."

* * *

The drive to the restaurant was short with minimal traffic incidents beyond running a few lights. Dipper let him hear all about it as they walked into Al Dente's, but Bill had gotten pretty good at tuning him out and simply listened to the specials of the day as the waiter led them to his preferred table.

Once seated, Bill looked at the menu with interest. "It's a shame the picture always looks better than what you get," he commented. "I wish more places around here had _class_."

"You're just a ray of sunshine," Dipper commented, then appeared to be considering something. Leaning toward him slightly, Dipper… he fucking— batted his eyelashes and was twirling his hair between his fingers?

What. The. Fuck.

"Are you having a gender crisis right now?"

That brought Dipper into a burst of laughter. "No, but I bet you'd like that. On the way over, I… was sort of researching first date tips and the site said to use bold body language to get a second date."

Oh. So that's why he was on his phone the whole time, ignoring him, being dismissive with little hums and 'mhm's the entire time. "Did it tell you to look like a discount hooker while doing so?"

The kid's face dropped into an offended pout, and he mumbled, "I bet Pentagram would've loved it."

"Pentagram would've played it off like it was the cutest thing in the 'gosh dang world, oh my darlin' or some horseshit. He'd only be in it for the marriage, sugar. You don't want that." Gideon's desperation knew no bounds.

"I'll have you know I _am_ the cutest thing in the gosh dang world," he said but was far from serious, the grin fighting its way through despite his obvious attempts at holding back. "And don't try to tell me you're not here because you want to get laid. Which you won't, by the way."

Bill chuckled and patted his knee. He wasn't wrong about that, considering Bill was the _handsomest_. "Of course you are, cutie. And you can keep telling yourself we won't have sex, we will." Sooner or later, Dipper would be begging for his cock. He just had to wear out this… rebellious streak.

"Yeah, no. I'm saving myself for a real man." After a pause, he added amusedly, "Hey, maybe I should call up that guy we met today since he seemed to like me a lot."

Bill made a face as he realized he was referring to Blind Ivan. "You don't even have his number, Pine Tree. How're you going to pull that one off?"

"You wouldn't give it to me?" Nope, he wasn't getting it out of Bill, and even if he did manage to get a hold of his phone, his contact names were nicknames.

"Sorry, you're not getting any numbers from me but my own."

"I already have your number. Theoretically, if you had to set me up with someone…" Dipper glanced up from his menu, giving him a sly look. "Who would it be? Mabel's got a girlfriend, I'm so very jealous. Like, out of all your criminal buddies, who would you choose for me?"

"We're on a date, sugar. You've been upgraded."

His eyebrows hitched. "You're the best date you can think of? Talk about narcissism."

Bill snorted. "It's _true_ , I am the best. Get over it, cherry."

"Well, you have—" he briefly checked the time on his phone, "about an hour and a half to show me that you're the best date ever before we'll have to pick up Mabel." After a second, Dipper tilted his head to a side and inquired, "Has the dazzling commenced yet? I can't really tell."

"Not yet." Bill waved the waiter over since it was about time they got things moving. "Are you ready to order, my dear?" The unexpected term of endearment had seemingly intrigued Dipper.

"Absolutely, _darling_." It sounded more venomous than his did, but he couldn't miss the inflection of playfulness. Looking to the waiter, Dipper relayed his order, "I'll just have water and the uh, cheese ravioli."

After Dipper finished, he gave his own order, "The chicken picatta with a bottle of _Amarone Bertani_." The most expensive bottle of wine on the menu, but what could Bill say? He wanted to treat himself, and maybe Dipper too.

The waiter left with a nod and promise to be right back with the drinks, leaving Dipper to stare at Bill through narrowed eyes. "So… am I driving back, or what?"

"Why would you be driving back? I'm perfectly capable."

"You tread the border of 'capable driver' when you're completely sober," he remarked. "Either I drive us back, or you can't drink alcohol."

So this was how the kid was going to be. "Come on," he tried, "it's not going to _kill us_ to enjoy some wine together." They could share it. Dipper could finally get a taste of some of the… tolerable stuff.

Unrelenting, he shook his head. "Can't you wait until we're back at the penthouse? Drink later."

"If I drink later," Bill lightly challenged him, "will you join me?" He mostly wanted the kid to try it.

The kid shifted his weight, appearing unsure from the way his eyes shifted, and his fingertips drummed against the wooden table. "Let's see, will I be twenty-one in the next few hours? No."

"It's not illegal to drink alcohol if you're under twenty-one, it's just illegal to buy it. Loosen up, Pine Tree."

"Pretty sure it's still illegal," Dipper laughed nervously and shrugged, "so I don't know."

Bill chuckled. "Everything's legal when the pigs aren't around, sugar. No one's gonna call the cops on you for drinking, cutie." He looked away when the waiter approached the table.

"I'm sorry sir," the waiter said, setting down their drinks but withholding the wine. "I'll need to see your ID."

Ah, he'd forgotten about this. The waiter must've forgotten too. Bill reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet, and from within, one of his many IDs. He handed it over to the waiter who checked it before it was returned, and with it the bottle of wine.

Bill was about to slip the ID back into his wallet when a thieving little snake snatched it, Dipper scanning the license with interest. "To be honest, I'm kind of surprised your name is actually Bill Cipher." Jesus, it was like the holidays had come early for this kid with how bright his eyes were as he looked it over. "Nice picture, it's weird to see you without that 'I-haven't-been-laid-in-three-months' look. October 25th birthday… Oh— oh wow, you're over six feet tall? I'm not _short,_ you really are just a giant." It was a little more than annoying that this kid was looking at his shit. That was _his_ license, and Bill wanted to cut off his fingers for taking it from him.

"If you're surprised by that ID, just wait until you see the nineteen other licenses I have." This was the only real one, but he wanted to plant that seed of doubt about his identity back into Dipper's head. It was funny to watch him struggle with it. "Not my fault you got the short end of the genetic stick, Pine Tree."

Dipper didn't seem to hear him, looking entranced since he brought the license closer as if examining a particular detail, then drew it away again to ask, "What is… 'dic'?" He smirked and added, "Not that it isn't fitting, but licenses usually don't come with warning labels."

Bill shook his head, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. " _Dic_ hromatic. It's pronounced like _dyke_. "

That was enough to throw Dipper into a fit of giggles, the kid found that so funny that he could see tears in the corners of his eyes by the time he had gotten the outburst under control. "Just your average lesbian couple out on a date."

The kid was starting to become less cute. "No."

Although Dipper was still smiling at him, he handed over the license and said, "Come on, I was just kidding. You're the manliest man ever. Happy?"

"Nah." He tucked his license back into his wallet, grumbling softly. "Thief."

"Dic." Dipper couldn't contain the second round of laughter, meanwhile Bill hrmmphed in annoyance, noting that he _still_ didn't say it right even after he'd offered the correction.

Sometimes, he wanted to kill the kid. "Man, kid, you're sounding quite dickish right now."

With his face resting in one of his hands, he questioned, "A _gorgeous_ and _feminine_ housewife like me, dickish?" The words were exaggerated.

"Yes."

"Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint." And he seemed to do the most dickish thing he could, Bill should have even seen it coming with what happened earlier, that particular _incident_ with the Pop-Tart because before he knew it, his undone bowtie rested in the kid's palm while he wore an expression of innocence.

"I'm going to leave," he informed Dipper coldly, "and you can pay for the food. Or get arrested, because you don't have money."

"So my options are… prison, get killed by Stan later for using his card, or making it to the end of a date with you." Dipper thought about it for several long seconds, a hum escaping him as his fingers danced with the lace of the bowtie. "You're probably the lesser of the evils," he concluded and extended the bowtie back to him.

Bill huffed. "I should make you tie it back on." Maybe if he had to keep doing that, he'd stop stealing it.

"Wow. I really have become a housewife."

"You haven't been a very good one recently."

"Is this because you're going through a dry spell? Maybe if you weren't sleeping with hookers, we'd have more of a sex life," he teased but let the subject drop, likely after seeing the rather displeased expression he wore. "I guess that website with dating tips wasn't too helpful, huh? Your face says 'worst date ever.'"

"I want to send you back to the Grindr warehouse."

Dipper's eyes dragged over his clothing. "So you can buzz back to your beehive?" Leaning over the table, he began to work on getting the bowtie situation resolved, seemingly trying to keep his distance to avoid their faces being pushed together as they otherwise would, if he wasn't staying an entire arm's length away. He sat down once he was finished, commenting, "Back to looking as fashionable as Armani. Now that we've established we're dressing each other, what are you going to put me in?"

Bill had an idea. "Well, I always thought you'd look good as a _bunny_ …" He grinned at him, knowing Dipper would get the playboy bunny reference. "You can hop onto my cock anytime, honey bun."

Dipper choked on his water, coughing into his flannel shirt a couple times as he tried to clear his throat. Once he'd recomposed himself, he questioned curiously, "What would that en _tail_?"

Although the pun wasn't lost on him, he asked simply to fluster Dipper, "Which part? The outfit or riding my dick? Because riding my dick would require a lot of lube, some fingering to get you prepped, and you settling down on my dick until–"

"Holy— I meant _the outfit_!" Dipper specified once his horror had faded enough to allow him to speak.

"Don't you have a phone for that, Pine Tree?" Bill's tone was teasing. "You've already looked up a shit ton of stuff tonight, like dating tips."

"And look where that got me," he said dryly. "I mean, I _could_ look it up, but would… you want me to dress like a female bunny? Because I think the male bunnies are different."

Dipper was a girl, why would he be looking at the male bunnies' attire? "You'd only make a good _female_ bunny, cutie. You couldn't pass off as a male."

"Hey," he protested, appearing offended for a second but let it go as he noticed the waiter approaching with dishes of food. Once it'd been dropped off at the table and they were alone again, he said, "Look, if I'm going to be the playboy bunny to your… apparent Hugh Hefner, I expect to be seriously pampered."

"Is dinner not good enough for you, doll? I could pamper you with a good lay if you want."

"A good lay, huh?" Dipper snickered. "So who are you going to be getting?"

Bill's eyes narrowed at the jab and bluntly replied, "Your dad." Too soon?

Paling a little, Dipper gave his plate a nudge, pushing it away. "Well, guess I'm done eating before I even had a chance to start." Oh yeah, too soon confirmed. With a sigh, Dipper picked up his fork to play with his noodles but didn't make a move to eat them, not that he was going to wait around for Pine Tree to dig in when he was starving. He was already working on the chicken picatta and would continue to enjoy it regardless of whether or not Dipper ate. "A while ago, we were talking about my parents and the whole thing with my sexuality. I think that conversation happened outside the convenience store?" A trace of a fond smile touched Dipper's lips. "Well, anyway, do… you, uh, want to know how they found out I was bi?"

He had some guesses. "Did they find you making out with a poster of Justin Bieber? Or singing some... gay ass Harry Styles song like 'What Makes You Beautiful', or—"

"I prefer ABBA, actually, but that's irrelevant.."

"Ah yes, can't forget their _Mamma Mia!_ soundtrack. Good songs."

"Yeah, they really are!" Dipper brightened instantly. "That's getting a bit off topic though, so to answer your questions… No, none of that happened. I wasn't kissing any posters or singing, it was way more embarrassing."

"Did they catch you throwing up after a make out session with a picture of your teenage mother? Or after masturbating to an image of Einstein with his tongue out? Oh! Did they find your _Playgirl_ magazine—?"

" _Okay_ , you seriously need to stop with the guesses. I'm just going to tell you." Dipper looked thoroughly revolted, but he shook it away after a moment or two. "So, you know how Mabel has long hair? That's pretty rough on shower drains and she was never too diligent when it came to throwing the hair away instead of letting it build up. The drain got slow and eventually clogged, so when I wanted to shower one day, I decided I would clean it. But here's the thing: I was like, fourteen, and didn't really know the most efficient way to do that."

There was a blush beginning to spread across his cheeks, deepening as he continued, "And I decided to use a toothbrush. I cleaned out the drain, then took my shower. Everything was good, except…" The kid was impossibly red by now, voice picking up in speed, "Except I may have forgotten to take the toothbrush out of the shower again and my parents thought that I was using it to, um, y'know—" he buried his burning face into his hands, "do stuff in the shower."

Bill burst into laughter. "Damn, kid. That _is_ way more embarr _ass_ ing." A toothbrush? No wonder his parents supported him, they were probably hoping he'd do better than _that_.

"For the love of god, don't be a _dic_ about this," Dipper huffed but Bill swore he could see the kid smiling through the small spaces between his fingers.

* * *

It turned out he'd been spot on in his earlier prediction when it came to the Shooting Star and Llama rendezvous; when he and Pine Tree had left the restaurant, Bill had asked him to text her to see if she was ready, and _of course_ she'd responded to say she was going to stay the night. And interestingly, it left him and Dipper alone for the evening in the penthouse since Stan and Ford didn't seem to be around. He had no idea where they were, couldn't even bring himself to care at the moment — they were big boys, they could handle themselves.

Presently, Bill sat with Dipper on the balcony's patio sofa, the bottle of wine still unopened but sitting on the nearby table with two wine glasses; he wasn't going to drink out of the bottle, he was a classy fellow. Besides, Bill had finally gotten the kid to eat his meal after promising he wouldn't make any more lewd comments (at least during dinner), so even if he did drink with him, he figured it wouldn't hit the kid too hard since he wouldn't be doing it on an empty stomach.

Overall, stargazing from the comfort of the balcony would be a nice end to an equally nice evening date. It was strange how being with Dipper made him happy, but he wasn't complaining.

A thought occurred to him, and he glanced at Pine Tree. "So… about the toothbrush incident. Why didn't the Help just clean the drain for you?"

Dipper gave him a funny look. "What is 'the Help' and why is it supposed to clean drains?"

"You know, _them_. The underlings."

His expression shifted to a confused stare, his head tilting. "No, I really don't know. The devil's minions, or who are you talking about?"

Bill blinked at him. "Did you not have the … inferiors working for your family?"

A little laugh escaped him, and he shook his head. "Are you talking about housekeepers? We had money, but not… _that_ much money, and my parents weren't the type." Pausing, Dipper's gaze swept over him, some mix of surprise and curiosity hiding in those brown eyes. "Wait, did you?"

"Well, yes. I thought the family of a mayor _and_ senator would be able to afford it too, but maybe my family was just better with their financials." They did own and operate a Fortune 500 company dealing with financial services after all. Until Bill sold it once he'd… disposed of them.

Dipper's eyes were wide as they remained fixed on him. "I didn't know your family was…" he trailed off, hand motioning as he tried to find a suitable word, "so wealthy."

Admittedly, he was a little confused by Dipper's surprise. He thought it was obvious he came from wealth. No one else could be so classy. "How did you _not_ know?"

A shrug, and he said, "I guess I knew you had money to throw around, but I didn't realize it was from your parents."

At that, his temper flared. How **dare** he assume it was all from his parents? Bill had to work his ass off to keep those funds invested wisely. The majority of profit was probably due to _him_. "Unlike _you_ , I didn't have to rely only on mommy and daddy's paychecks." He saw the flicker of annoyance on Dipper's face but kept going, "My father forced me to work in his firm in order to prepare me for when I'd take over." Basically grooming him, but Bill didn't care. He had his revenge.

"Oh," it was a murmur, his eyes softening, "that's… uh, I'm sorry." He cleared his throat, averting his gaze as he tentatively shuffled until he was leaning against him, Dipper's legs folded on the sofa while his hands were placed neatly in his lap.

"For being wrong?" he inquired. "You should be. Not everyone had it easy like you did."

Dipper stiffly replied, "I didn't have it _easy_ , but I wouldn't expect you to know that. I don't think you've ever asked, just skipped to calling me spoiled and ungrateful."

Bill scoffed. "Your parents loved you, they _supported_ you, they were there for you. How did you _not_ have it easy?"

He could see Dipper was bristling. "It's not a contest, Bill. If the one who had it worse was the only one in the world allowed to complain, we'd be sitting in silence." Dipper let out a sigh, fidgeting against him. "I know things must have been rough for you, but I wish you wouldn't call me spoiled solely on the basis of possibly having a worse home life than I did."

"I said you had it _easy_ , not that you were _spoiled_." The kid shouldn't put words in his mouth.

Although the traces of anger remained, he looked wounded, as if a nerve had been struck. "That's.. not what I meant. It's implied in a lot of what you do and say around me, it's like you think I am just some spoiled rich kid who used his parents' money to get ahead in the world."

Bill didn't understand what the issue here was. How was he wrong? He was pretty sure Dipper even had enough money to fund his college career. "I don't think you're _just_ some spoiled rich kid, cutie." He reached over to set his arm around Dipper, pulling him in closer and feeling a tiny pinch of satisfaction when Dipper rested his head on his shoulder. "I think you're _my_ spoiled rich kid. Get used to it, cherry."

Dipper laughed at that, quietly — but it was there, and that was what counted. "I'm not sure what you mean. It's not like I have access to those funds anymore, so I'm not really a rich kid now."

Carefully, as to not disturb Dipper, he reached over to grab the bottle of wine and position it in his lap so he could unscrew the cork. "Ah, but cutie, you know I'll get you whatever you want. You basically have indirect access to my funds. Also, don't you still have Stan's card?" He was pretty sure the kids never actually gave it back, not that Stan cared. He poured the wine into the two glasses, setting the bottle down once they were filled and offering a glass to Dipper.

Taking the glass, Dipper raised an eyebrow at what he said, giving him a skeptical look, but there was still a faint smile on his lips. "I don't think of Stan's money as my money, dude. It's supposed to be for emergencies." Returning his cheek on his shoulder once more, he could feel the kid exhale, essentially deflating into him.

Knowing Stan, the money may as well be Dipper's. "I doubt he'd mind if you lived off his money." It was true: the guy was a definition of a pushover. "When it comes to kids, he's so soft that he'd bend over backwards if you said 'please.'"

"Would you get hard if I said 'please' and bent over?" There was a small smile on his face, the kid swishing the wine gently as he examined it.

At Dipper's question, he hesitated and focused his attention on his glass of wine, taking a sip. He didn't want to tell Dipper anything about that, mostly because deep down, he knew he would, as much as he wanted to deny it. Redirecting the subject by returning to Stan, he commented, "Yeah, Stan is incredibly squishy when it comes to children. Like a sack of animal fat."

Making a face probably at 'animal fat', Dipper moved on and instead referenced an earlier topic. "Also, what you said about having indirect access to your funds… I didn't know that."

Wasn't it obvious? He kept buying shit for the kid, like those stupid mugs. "You do now."

Despite Dipper's earlier hesitance about drinking alcohol, he raised the glass to his lips and took a tentative sip, his face scrunching. "It's like a grape died in my mouth."

"You don't like it?" He wouldn't have blamed him. Even for a hundred dollars, it still tasted like cheap swill.

"I don't mind it," he replied with a shrug, "it's just different. I didn't think wine would be this bitter, I guess?"

Bill grinned. "It's not the best quality, for sure. I think I ought to kill the manufacturer."

After taking another drink, he asked, "Do you usually talk about murder on your dates?"

"I usually don't bother with the dating aspect. I found participating in murder porn to be much more enjoyable." He liked choking the life out of them as they fucked.

He could feel the way Dipper tensed beside him, shifting uncomfortably. "Well, now I'm definitely glad I laid down the 'no sex' rule." He took another drink from the glass, this one longer.

Bill chuckled softly and planted a kiss to his cheek, which elicited a noise of feigned protest from Dipper, but he knew that if he'd genuinely disliked it he wouldn't still be pressed against him. "Don't get so tense, cutie. I like you too much to murder you during sex."

"Probably the most romantic thing you've ever said to me," he replied sarcastically, but it seemed more playful than scathing. "Wow, the sad part is, I think that's probably the _only_ romantic thing someone has ever said to me." And with that, he tipped his wine glass back and finished drinking it in one large sip before setting it down.

Christ. This went from having a good time to Dipper being a Debbie Downer. "If you want to feel better," Bill suggested, "I know where we can get some cocaine. Good shit."

At first Dipper chuckled at that, then abruptly stopped when he stole a glance at him only to see he hadn't been joking about the offer. With wide eyes, he shook his head. "Oh my god, no."

"Come on, Pine Tree! It's safe! ...Compared to meth. You should try it, you won't regret it." Bill didn't, but he also rarely sampled his own supply since he liked the profit over a high.

"Starting to regret this date right now," he mumbled but made no move to pull away from him, so Bill figured he couldn't be nearly as vexed as he claimed.

He chuckled at him. "I don't think you are, doll. I think you _like_ this date and want another one."

"Maybe if the next date is with the 'good lay' you were talking about earlier," he hummed, "and if you say my dad again, I'll fucking end you."

"I'm the _best lay_ , sugar. Guess you're stuck with my fat dick."

Turning red, the kid covered his face with his hand for a couple long moments, then ran it through his hair as he gave a long exhale. "The only thing that's fat about you is your overbearing pride."

Hah, the kid wished Bill only had a huge amount of pride, something Dipper would learn sooner or later, and not just because they were living together. The sound of his phone vibrating in his pocket drew his attention away, and he pulled it out and unlocked it. It was a text from Big Daddy.

( **9:17 PM)** _hey bill, are ya at the penthouse?_

( **9:18 PM)** yeah

( **9:18 PM)** _can u pull out the box of toaster strudels from the freezer_

( **9:18 PM)** _ford and i'll be back soon and ya know i hate it when they're completely frozen_

Dipper's eyes flicked to his phone, stealing a peek at their conversation. "And I thought _my_ night was sad, going on a date with you. Jesus."

"Get used to it, Pine Tree. Stan's a mess of an old man." Not that he was _that_ old, but still. It was a little pathetic.

"You ought to thank Stan when he gets here," Dipper said. "This alone has convinced me that I've been thoroughly dazzled because I got a real date, meanwhile Stan and Ford got Toaster Strudels." Before he could respond, another text came through:

( **9:20 PM)** _if dipper's there,_ _can ya get him to design the toaster strudels? i want to see what the kid can do_

Bill knew Dipper was still looking at the conversation, and he spared him a glance only to see the kid was grinning a little. "You gonna decorate this sad man's food?"

"Yeah, I will." Dipper rubbed the back of his neck, giving a laugh under his breath. Bill was about to text a reply to Stan, but paused when he heard the question: "So you talk about me to people?"

"What?" Bill feigned confusion. "Nah, kid. Mabel must've told him."

That made the kid laugh harder, and he said, "Actually, Mabel doesn't know. I kind of forgot to tell her I switched my major since I did that halfway through the spring semester and we haven't had a lot of time for just… catching up."

That was a surprise. "I thought you two were closer than honey in a comb."

"I admire how you've embraced the bee thing."

"Shh, Pine Tree. Go back to keeping secrets from your sister."

That earned him a playful shove. "I'm going to get started on Stan's Toaster Strudel," Dipper informed him, getting up from the balcony sofa. "Thanks for the date."

"No kiss?" Bill raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't rip me off, cutie."

Pausing, he turned around and peered at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He softly laughed. "I guess that website didn't tell you how kissing was end-of-date etiquette." It must've been a shitty site. He figured all of them would emphasize the kiss.

"Dates don't _need_ to end with a kiss, Bill." Dipper looked thoughtful, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips. "In fact, I think you're simply trying to swindle one out of me."

"They _do_ ," Bill insisted. "I get you haven't been on one before, cutie, but that doesn't mean you can weasel your way out of kissing me. Come on, doll, it'll be good." Make up for that… mess of one from the other night. It was so sloppy, careless, ended in complete chaos. He wanted to give Dipper a better experience since the guilt still gnawed at him.

"I don't know," but Dipper didn't sound all that unsure, more like he was playing with the idea. With _him_. Sitting back down on the sofa, he shifted so his body faced toward him and leaned back on his hands. "You can kiss me if you ask nicely, and don't just go for it like you did… um, that other time."

Okay, he could do that. Easy enough. "Alright, let's kiss. Pucker up, cutie."

Dipper chastised him, "That is not asking nicely. Try again."

"Give me a kiss." He tried a second time. This _was_ being nice.

"That was a demand, you're still not asking."

"Let me kiss you." Wasn't this asking? He didn't know.

"Literally not a single one of these have been questions."

Why would he ask a question? That was stupid. Giving it another attempt, he said, "I want to kiss you..?"

Rubbing at his arms, Dipper chuckled and let his eyes slide away, looking beyond him. "Alright, I think we're done here. No kiss for you."

As Dipper was starting to get up again, Bill reached for his flannel shirt to stop him and said, "Whoa, hey there! I can do this cutie! Ah… could I… kiss you? I think we'd both like it a lot, _Mason_."

That pulled his attention back instantly, Dipper's eyes glittering with interest and surprise. "Jeez, you actually asked. I, uh— I didn't think you would." He swallowed, fidgeted. Shuffled slightly. "You must really want this too." Once the words were out, the kid seemed momentarily stunned by himself and flushed. "I meant, 'you must really want this.' Forget that last part. So, um, I guess let's...?" he made a vague motion between them.

It had been _hard_ to ask. Dipper better be grateful. "Yeah, we both know how much _you_ want this too, doll. Pucker those lips up." He leaned toward Dipper, ready to steal his mouth in a kiss.

But Dipper flinched to dodge him, looking nervous as he glanced away. God FUCKING damn it. "Wait, uh— um, this doesn't _mean_ anything, right? Like, you're not going to start talking about marriage or eloping again?"

"No, I'm not. Are we going to kiss?" He sounded a little impatient, frustrated that Dipper had backed off. There were no strings attached, he needed to take this at face value: it was a kiss to end their date, nothing more.

Dipper nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready this time." Bill gave him a lingering, critical stare. Okay.

Recollecting and preparing himself again, Bill leaned back in for the kiss, only to be thwarted by Dipper pulling back. AGAIN.

His expression was sheepish, embarrassed. Squirming, his fingers tapped anxiously on the sofa cushions. "Tiny problem, I— I don't know how to actually kiss someone."

"Then follow my lead." And stop fucking pulling back. Without giving him much time to react since he didn't want to deal with any more hangups, Bill lunged forward, pinning Dipper against the couch cushion and captured his lips with his.

He heard the kid make a muffled noise of surprise, but it melted into a pleased whine, a sweet sound that Bill wouldn't mind hearing in the future. And similarly, his once-tense body had relaxed under him as he started to return the kiss, their mouths moving together even if Dipper's contributions were more hesitant and inexperienced, a tad clumsy really.

But it didn't matter to him, not when this was so much better than the kiss they'd had at the pier. For one, Dipper was responding to him, being an active participant in the kiss, and two, he seemed to genuinely be enjoying himself with the way his eyelids fluttered closed and a light blush was coloring his cheeks.

After a moment, Bill withdrew, falling back onto the couch. There was a sweet taste in his mouth from Dipper, and he wondered if that was a side effect of being addicted to Pop-Tarts. "How was that, cutie?"

When he didn't immediately respond, Bill looked over to see that Dipper wore a dazed expression, his eyes glassy. Like he couldn't process what was happening around him, suspended in a daydream. Inhaling, everything seemed to catch up to him as he sat up straighter, glancing to meeting his gaze. Still blushing so adorably, Dipper confessed, "I… I can't believe we just did that. It was a lot better than the other one."

"Of course it was." It'd better be, or there'd be hell to pay. "You're looking a bit red, cherry. Can't handle being kissed?"

Pointing it out only caused him to become redder, and he let out a huffy sigh. "All I heard was 'I don't want another kiss from you, ever.'" Dipper rose from his spot on the sofa and moved toward the sliding door, probably leaving to go make Stan's food, but he paused. "Do you want a decorated Toaster Strudel too?"

He chuckled softly. "No, I'm good. Make one for Ford though, I want to see the dumbass gush over it." Knowing the two, it'd probably be an owl or something stupid like that.

"Sure, Romeo." He gave the briefest of winks, then left to go inside.


	13. Chapter 13

The image of the golden lion burned fresh in Dipper's memory as he woke with a strangled gasp for air, trying to steady himself and take in deep breaths to curb the rush of anxiety and adrenaline rapidly pounding through him.

Another nightmare after another night in the penthouse. Frustrating, but definitely not an uncommon predicament.

Moving to shuffle off of his makeshift sofa-bed, Dipper stopped when he realized there was a… a package, waiting for him? Puzzled, he picked up the gift-wrapped box and found the contents rattled lightly as he turned it over in his hands, looking for some explanation. All he discovered was a small tag that had 'Pine Tree' written on it, which at least confirmed two things: it was for him, and it was from Bill since nobody else would be addressing him like that or writing in a fancy script with star-dotted i's.

Opening the package, his eyes widened. Surprise engulfed him while he stared at the new sketchbook. But it wasn't _just_ a sketchbook, Bill had included a set of drawing pencils, a variety of erasers spanning the different types, blending stumps, and a felt tip pen. All Dipper could do for several seconds was stare at it with amazement, astounded by the incredible consideration and research that had to have gone into this gift, the shock amplified considering who it was from.

Sorting through the individual pieces of the gift, he noticed there was something included that he hadn't initially seen — a note, very obviously also written in Bill's handwriting that read, 'Listen up, Picasso. These are yours under one condition: you draw me before anything or anybody else. -Sincerely, the magnificent Bill Cipher.' As if he'd needed to be told who was responsible for this.

It seemed Bill listened closer than he originally believed if he'd caught the single comment he made about missing his sketchbook. And strangely, for someone he'd known for such a short amount of time, it was a really personal gift and he couldn't be more thankful.

However, it wasn't as if he could make immediate use of it since Bill wasn't even here. Last night, Dipper recalled he'd mentioned a freelance job that'd preoccupy him until it was time to do the mission with the Owls, so he figured it'd be evening before he had much of an opportunity to talk to him.

The sound of crinkling aluminum disrupted his thoughts, and he spotted the form of Mabel emerging from the kitchen, fighting with two silver packages of Pop-Tarts at once. No wonder he kept running out of them so quickly. Mabel paused in her struggle, like she finally saw he was awake. "Dipper!" Her greeting was enthusiastic. "What do you have there? Is it a diary?"

Looking down in his hands, he remembered he was still holding the sketchbook. "Oh! No," he gave a small laugh but could understand why Mabel might've thought that, "it's not a diary, it's.. a sketchbook. I made the leap and changed my major a couple months ago to art." It was an idea he'd talked to her about, but he'd failed to mention when he switched.

She didn't seem to mind not being told, tearing open one of the packets and beginning to munch down on a Pop-Tart. "Is there anything in it?"

"I don't think so? It's brand new." Dipper thumbed through the pages idly, coming up blank as expected until he got to the first one. He blinked. "I guess there is something in it." He lifted the sketchbook to show Mabel the starry signature scribbled in ink at the bottom of the first page, as if it were a signed portrait. And signed by the subject-to-be, not the artist. "If you haven't already guessed, all these things," he motioned to the array of art supplies, "are gifts from Bill, and he wants me to draw him first."

At her squeal of excitement, Dipper tilted his head in confusion.

"You're making so much progress with him!" Mabel exclaimed through a mouthful of food, yet Dipper thought the statement itself was questionable at best. He didn't think _he_ was making progress with Bill. If anything, Bill was taking it upon himself to be more tolerable. "It must be true then, getting engaged does do wonders for couples."

Dipper instinctively looked to his hand when reminded of that, Bill's ring no longer there, which almost felt strange. "I don't think we're even fake engaged anymore, Mabel. I gave his ring back a while ago." It was a matter he hadn't discussed with her, as he determined it didn't mean anything and Bill seemed to be pretty distressed over the whole incident, particularly when it came to sharing details of it with others. Not long ago, he'd angrily accused him of talking to Mabel about the kiss when he hadn't said a peep.

But there was that encounter with the uncomfortably-knowledgeable stranger, the one in which Bill had two too many guns pointed at him — he'd been terrified when he'd stumbled in on that shootout waiting to happen. Bill had claimed they were engaged again, something he'd decided would be in his best interest to go along with under the circumstances.

Mabel's expression dropped. "Aw, but you were _so_ cute together! What happened?"

"We, uh… we got into a fight at the pier that one night, and I returned the ring to him." It was a very watered down and slightly warped version of events, but it wasn't a lie. It would also save face, since he didn't feel the need to out Bill's moment of despair to everybody, and Mabel had a habit of spreading gossip like wildfire.

"So that's why you two act awkward together!" Sort of, he supposed. "You need to make up, Dippy Bro-bro."

"We have," he reassured with a grin. Knowing Bill, it would only be a matter of time before something else came up and threw them back a few steps, but for now he was enjoying where they were. The date, while not a romantic excursion, had still been a fun evening, and the way it ended… Dipper had been trying not to slip into bad habits and overthink it. He knew it was nothing more than a kiss, but—

But he _kind of_ enjoyed it more than he thought he would, it'd been nice. Dipper wasn't looking for a relationship, obviously; he didn't think he was ready for that, nor did he know Bill well enough. Nevertheless, he'd liked the kiss. "If we were still fighting, I don't think he would've gotten me this stuff." Dipper gave a brief nod toward the sketchbook and other items.

"Maybe it's his attempt to try and get your engagement back on track," Mabel suggested, giggling.

If that was true, it seemed excessive over a fake engagement with a foundation built on a stupid joke, but he still never knew with Bill. Pushing the thoughts away, Dipper settled for laughing with her.

* * *

It was a relief when the chaos of the penthouse died down. The crew had departed for their mission, which left him and Mabel in peace after about twenty minutes of pure yelling and running and frantic searching for last second supplies. Dipper had done nothing but spectate because Mabel's offers to help were shut down quickly and harshly by a stressed Stan.

With the plethora of mission changes and reminders, and questions from the rest of the crew, Dipper hadn't even come close to being able to talk to Bill, who looked too tired for his own good. It was as if he was operating on an hour or two of sleep. And given what he'd mentioned about insomnia, maybe he was, considering he'd been so out of it that his phone lay forgotten on the coffee table. Dipper hoped he wouldn't need it but doubted it'd be an issue when they had a radio communication system through earpieces for their heists.

Now, he and Mabel were collapsed together on the sectional sofa, limbs splayed out and overlapping the other's while they basked in the afternoon light filtering through the wall window. Dipper gave Mabel a thoughtful look and recalled she'd had a visit with Pacifica, so he inquired, "How was your day with your _girlfriend_?" It was said a touch teasingly, but not meanly. "What did you guys do? Please, for the love of god, spare me the gross details." Being forcibly shown the image of Pacifica's butt after their first date had been more than enough.

Since Mabel had stayed the night, Pacifica dropped her off outside the penthouse the morning after their second outing together, and he'd gotten a chance to meet her. She'd come off as a bit snobbish, but still more genuine and likeable than Bill, so that was a definite plus. As long as she was being respectful and a good girlfriend to Mabel, he didn't care.

Mabel beamed at his questions. "It went great! We went out to the movies and watched _Incredibles 2_ , then we swung by that old malt shop and shared a milkshake. Then we left to go to her house to break in her new couch, if you know what I'm saying."

"Yep, that was exactly the sort of thing I didn't want to hear about." Dipper was going to pretend that hadn't happened and tried to focus on the other activities that didn't make him want to bleach his ears into oblivion. "It sounds like you had a nice date." He didn't know how comparable his date with Bill was to theirs since it wasn't especially romantic, but he still enjoyed the simplicity of going to a restaurant and then sitting on the penthouse balcony together.

"It was a little lacking with how you didn't keep walking in, like how you always did.. before."

Dipper felt the heat rise to his cheeks instantly when reminded of… that, his previous tendency to always choose the wrong moments to walk in on Mabel when she'd had dates over. Giving a shaky, nervous chuckle, he said, "Yeah…" but couldn't think of anything else, aside from his discomfort with this topic. It'd been troubling and somewhat traumatic, to say the least, and a bit of a strain on their relationship when fights had ensued over it.

If Mabel noticed his discomfort, she didn't acknowledge it. "We have another date coming up! We're going to go on a picnic."

Glad to be away from that subject, Dipper replied, "That's really cool. Did you get permission from Stan? I know he's still on the fence about public outings." It seemed the entire city, minus the underbelly, had overlooked their existence already and not even a month had passed. A depressing thought, but he guessed it was alright since the sooner they were out of mind, the sooner they'd be free to go. "Are you excited about leaving soon? Just a bit less than two weeks now." Then, they'd be on their own and tackling the world together.

"Well…" She shuffled beside him, and Dipper picked up on her hesitance, a pinch of alarm trickling through him. This didn't seem good. "Not really. I want to see how things work with Pacifica, and maybe with joining the crew…"

Heart kickstarting, that trickle of alarm turned into full blown panic. "W-what?" he breathed in disbelief, sitting up straight to stare at her with fearful desperation in his eyes. "You're honestly thinking of… of staying? _Joining_?" His voice cracked on the word.

This… this wasn't at all in the plan, nor was it any of the possible outcomes he'd considered for their supposed-to-be-temporary stay with Stan. It felt like it was coming out of nowhere, never mind the times he'd heard Mabel asking to help on jobs. It didn't make sense. Why would she want to stay? He wondered if he'd done something wrong, if being with him was undesirable or why her preference had swayed toward them—

Mabel glanced at him. "You're _not_ joining? I thought you'd stay for Bill, since you're like, _super gay_ with him."

Dipper shook his head. "No!" There were too many problems to even list with that. For starters, he wasn't _super gay_ with Bill despite what Mabel claimed, and he didn't have any interest in obtaining a criminal record or participating in illegal activities, and additionally he didn't seem to meet their height to weight ratio requirement for heists anyway. "I— I'm not joining them, and there's nothing even going on between me and Bill." And although he'd told Bill he would think about staying, he'd believed that agreement to be more of a 'keep in touch', not a 'stay here forever' arrangement. Brokenly, he asked, "But you are? Have you… told anyone?"

Her eyebrow raised at him. "You could've fooled anyone watching you interact!"

Dipper frowned. "I'm pretty sure the last thing you saw us do was sit silently in a car on the way to Pacifica's, and before that he shoved a Pop-Tart in my mouth for no reason." Well, he'd maybe had it coming, but it had been an overreaction on Bill's part.

"I can sense the sexual tension, Dipper!" She went on, talking over his protest that there was no sexual tension. "That's not the point though. As for talking to someone about staying… I may have mentioned it to Stan."

Dipper's mind snapped back to the bigger issue here. Mabel was going to be leaving him in favor of joining a criminal gang. He still couldn't process it and moved off the sofa to begin to pace the expanse of the living room. "Why didn't you talk to me first?!" The anxiety in his tone was rising, sounding more strained with each passing second. "Because now he probably thinks you're joining or worse, that we both are! I wish you would've told me— we've always done everything together," Dipper blathered, hardly able to keep a coherent and complete thought.

Her expression twisted in confusion, becoming agitated. "I thought you were joining too! It shouldn't have been a big deal…" After a short moment, with hurt in her voice, she added: "It's not like you talk to me about everything anymore, Dipper. It took you months to tell me about your major change."

Struggling to get his rapid breathing under control, he was forced to put his pacing on hold while he recomposed himself enough to respond. "That was different! Our life's a total mess, Mabel," he tried to point out. "I didn't think telling you that—when you already knew I'd been thinking about it—was really a top priority when…" the end of the sentence wasn't going to make it out, he knew he wouldn't be able to say it. He felt choked, like he was dying a slow death of suffocation from an overly-restricted chest and a skyrocketing heart rate.

"Can you at least think about it?" Mabel asked, wrapping her arms around him, Dipper all but collapsing into the embrace. For once, he was grateful that she was just a little taller and perhaps stronger than he was since she easily supported his weight as he could do nothing but be a shaking mess against her. "Stan won't let me anyway unless you want to."

It was a relief to know Stan wouldn't allow them to be separated, but equally conflicting because it made him the sole reason she wouldn't be happy, assuming he didn't join at the end of the two remaining weeks. Feeling miserable and drained, Dipper didn't know what he was going to do. "I'll… think about it," he promised, internally swearing he'd make an effort to see if this was a lifestyle he could adopt as his own. He had doubts, but he didn't want to be the reason Mabel was forced to leave.

Mabel squeezed him tightly, bringing him in closer while he could do nothing but unintentionally perform his best impression of a pathetic puddle. "Thank you, Dipper."

Eventually, through the help of Mabel's reassurances, Dipper was able to calm down again and wound up flopped on the sofa. The sun was beginning to set, casting large shadows around the penthouse, and he wondered what time it was, how long the others had been gone.

Deciding that checking the time via Bill's phone would be easier than sitting up to glance at the owl clock, he grabbed the device and was met with a lock screen requiring four digits.

Hmm.

Logically, he was aware the owl clock would be the easier option at this point, but he was curious.

His attempts to unlock the phone resulted in utter failure, he'd tried the most popular combinations first, then moved on to 2-4-5-5 thinking it'd be something narcissistic like that. No luck.

Getting an idea, he typed Bill's birthday. 1-0-2-5. And to his surprise, the home screen loaded — he was in, but it wasn't without a burst of shame at the intrusion because he knew he shouldn't be doing this, knew Bill wouldn't like it if he found out. It wasn't an _invasion_ of privacy though, it was innocent enough to want to know the time, but he couldn't help the growing urge to snoop. Maybe a bit wouldn't hurt, and it wasn't like he had a lot to do since Mabel was currently napping a few feet from him. He promised himself it would just be five minutes maximum, that was all.

Five minutes became ten, and ten became twenty that became forty, all of it used to surf through Bill's old photo albums. He wasn't interested in recent ones, they'd proved highly disturbing when he saw a picture of a dude with several bullet wounds. Very clearly dead. That'd been nightmare fuel.

Instead, what he thought was far more interesting were photos of dogs. Bill had an entire album, one that held most of the images on his phone, of simply _dogs_. And they weren't just any dogs, it seemed they were his dogs from how he was featured in several of the pictures.

They were the same dogs as well, two Golden Retrievers (or at least looked like them, when compared to Bella they were quite similar), a photographic collection of their entire lives it seemed spanning from the puppy to adult years.

The deeper into the rabbit hole he went, the more he felt uneasy about what he was doing but he just couldn't stop himself, partly because of how Bill looked in those pictures. In all of them, he had his rare expression of genuine and unrestricted happiness, the hollowness in his eyes gone and replaced with a bright joy. It was intoxicating to see him like that, so carefree, and actually _smiling_ in most of them. Not smirking, but smiling a real smile that made him want to smile too.

And he wasn't wearing black and yellow suits, for a change. The photos featured a Bill wearing normal person clothes, that alone a little unnerving but simultaneously too captivating to convince him to put down the device, knowing he wouldn't get another chance to do this in the near future, or possibly ever again.

When he inevitably heard voices and footsteps approaching, Dipper jumped, forgetting to leave the photo gallery but locking the phone again, placing it back on the table, all the while hoping he didn't look guilty over what he'd been doing. Having a glimpse into Bill's personal life, what it'd been before all of this and the one he'd originally met him in, was weirdly intimate, and he was irrationally afraid someone would discover his crime against privacy.

The door of the penthouse opened, and the trio consisting of Stan, Ford, and Bill entered. It seemed everything had gone well, with how excited the brothers were as they headed over to the board to plan their next heist. Stan said victoriously, "Another successful job for the Chill Gold Owls of Anarchy and Dudes!"

And he could hear Ford reply, "You could simply say 'Owls of Anarchy', Stanley. We know you're referring to this crew."

Bill didn't join them, walking to the coffee table to pick up his phone and unlock it. Briefly, his eyebrows furrowed, and he slipped his phone into his pocket. Letting out a relieved puff of air, Dipper hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath but relaxed since it seemed Bill hadn't noticed anything was awry.

Sitting up and forcing the last of his nervousness away, Dipper looked to Bill and said, "Well, hello to you too." In reference to the severe lack of acknowledgment. "You don't see me all day, and I don't even get a greeting?"

Bill glanced at Dipper with mild amusement. "Hi. I saw you earlier, cutie."

It was true, but that'd been during the period of absolute mayhem directly before they left for the heist. " _Barely_ , you didn't even get a chance to 'subtly' check me out. If you don't have time for that, it isn't really seeing me since I know you jump at the opportunity."

"You have my undivided attention now, doll. Shake that sweet little ass of yours."

Oh.

Flushing brightly, Dipper gave a quick glance around the room, eyes flicking from Bill to Stan and Ford, then back to Bill again. "But it might attract other attention too.." Not that he planned on doing anything of the sort, but he did need to get Bill alone to thank him for the art supplies, unsure how he'd feel about everyone else knowing about the gifts.

Bill faintly chuckled. "They wouldn't look, but follow me, cutie." He beckoned him toward the balcony door. "What were you up to while we were gone?"

Joining Bill outside, Dipper stood by him as they stalled near the railing, both looking over the city bathed in oranges and reds of the evening. Undoubtedly, it'd soon change to a brilliantly vivid, pinkish hue as the blue tones of night began to sweep over Los Santos. With a shrug, Dipper bit back a smile as he said, "Oh, y'know. Talked to Mabel, watched some television, messed around on my phone. Tried to jack it at one point but you came to mind, so that didn't work out."

"Ah, you must not be doing it right then. Would you like me to help you out with that?"

Dipper averted his eyes, giving an awkward cough. "I'd sooner let that emo guy touch me."

Things were quiet between them for a couple seconds as Bill gazed at the sky, Dipper following his line of sight yet not quite understanding what he was looking for up there. It was the same skyline as ever. But eventually, he spoke, "When Stan walked in, he said something about… the Owls, but it was this huge name?" Dipper wasn't sure what his specific inquiry was, just that he didn't know what Stan had been talking about.

Bill laughed, shaking his head. "Oh stars, kid. You don't want to know about the full name of the Owls."

Too late, his curiosity was piqued. "I do, so tell me."

"The Chill Gold Owls of Anarchy and Dudes. Stan let everyone get involved in the naming."

Dipper couldn't bite back his laugh and joked, "What, do you get to add in a word when you join, or something?"

He shrugged, bringing Dipper's eyebrows to raise. "Basically, yeah. I don't know if Stan would let anyone new add in a name since it's a mouthful already, but all of us were allowed to. Then again, Stan didn't _like_ that we ruined his name, but he couldn't resist Soos' puppy dog eyes."

"I'd just been kidding about that." But it was entertaining, even if he was glad they used the abridged version in conversation. His tone teasing and light, Dipper deduced, "So clearly, you added in 'dudes.'"

"Guess again, Pine Tree. I'm not as incompetent as Soos is when it comes to vocabulary."

"Oh, that's true. I guess that takes 'gold' off the table."

Bill shot him a dark glare. "It's an element on the periodic table. 'Dudes' is slang from the ghettos."

" _Chill_ , rich boy." He hadn't meant anything by that, but it seemed Bill had taken offense, not a particularly unusual occurrence in general but the response seemed disproportionate to the topic.

His expression only twisted at that, like he got a bad taste in his mouth, and he turned to head to the door. "Bye."

"Bill, come on." Dipper moved to catch his wrist, trying to keep him here since he hadn't gotten a chance to talk to him about the gifts yet. But Bill was still leaving, persistently trudging onward and almost pulling Dipper back inside with him, causing his hand slid down into Bill's — but he was unwilling to let Bill continue and tightened his grip to stop him.

"Don't make this gay, Pine Tree." Bill's voice was a murmur, but he had stopped walking toward the door. His gaze lingered on their interlocked hands before he lifted his eyes to Dipper, who pulled his hand back like it'd been zapped by a static charge, abruptly perceiving what'd happened in his determination to keep Bill here.

Bill slowly returned his hand to his side, a soft sigh escaping him. "At least don't look like my hand stung you. Despite your belief, I'm not a bee."

Although he didn't know why Bill seemed on the verge of disappointed, Dipper grinned faintly and under his breath muttered, "Bee-lief."

"I'm leaving."

Out of habit, he was going to grab for Bill again but remembered the incident only seconds prior. They didn't need to hold hands again, that would surely fuel the widespread impression they were dating. Reminded of his earlier alarm, Dipper said, "Wait. Uh, did… did you know that people around here think we're—" there really wasn't a good way to explain this, and he shuffled his feet, "—like, together? As in, dating?" It was something he'd wanted to mention to Bill after what Mabel implied this morning.

At that, Bill broke into laughter. Dipper blinked in confusion. "Oh, yeah. I forgot I might've told Stan we're together."

" _What_?" he squawked, wide-eyed. "Why?! Why would you do that? A-and _when_?" Dipper's mind was racing, wondering how long this had been going on, why Bill would think telling Stan they were dating was even… semi-acceptable (it wasn't!), and his motivations for doing so in the first place. Trying to process it, Dipper rambled, "Holy shit, this is— this is why people think we're together! Because of you!" It had nothing to do with the copious amounts of time they spent together or the flirtatious comments or squabbling.

"Well, _honestly kid_ , I wanted to see how he'd react. He was surprisingly okay with it, even when I told him we were getting married. He offered to pay for the wedding."

The noise he made sounded downright _inhuman_ , so loud and shrill and panicked and he couldn't comprehend how it'd even come from him. "B-but— but we're… it's not—" Dipper sputtered, tripping heavily over his words as he tried to think of _something_ at least half-intelligent to say, not quite sure where to start with this. After several seconds of incoherent sounds, he finally managed out, "We're not, though! Not dating or getting married, or anything!"

Bill met his gaze evenly. "That's a shame. Shall I tell him the wedding's off? He's going to be so disappointed."

" _Yes_ , and for the sake of my sanity, stop telling people we're dating!" It wasn't the first time this had been a problem with Bill. It was about the third time, actually.

"It's not my fault we're so perfect for each other, _doll_."

Bill had a smirk plastered across his face, but Dipper hardly registered it when what Bill said was resounding in his ears, replaying; he remembered that, something similar, it was incredibly familiar and brought uneasy memories. His mind returned to the night at the pier, right after the kiss when everything had started going downhill...

Bill coughed softly, an expression of guilt and regret overtaking his smirk. "Pine Tree?" His voice had dropped as he stepped toward him, a hand cupping his chin and tilting his head so they were facing each other. He could feel something cool and metal on his skin and realized Bill still wore the customized ring.

In a dazed state, Dipper was compliant to the touch, his lidded eyes raising to meet Bill's golden ones. A dreamy "hm?" fell from him, the gentle hum becoming background noise to their unexpected albeit welcome moment of serenity.

"Mason…" Bill lowly murmured his name, eyes flicking down to linger on his lips. There was a certain longing in Bill's gaze, and Dipper instantly knew where this was headed but didn't care because he wanted it too. And letting this moment naturally progress would reward them with what they both desired.

It was in another second that everything caught up to Dipper, and he jolted back from the touch, the loss of contact spurring disappointment but it wasn't as if they could just… kiss on the balcony, not with the others _right there_. One peek through the wall window and they'd be caught.

Dipper tried to ignore the crestfallen expression that had etched its way onto Bill's face.

Clearing his throat, he paced the balcony briefly to clear his thoughts before turning to Bill again, as he wanted to address the real reason they'd gotten away from the others. With appreciation in his voice, he murmured, "Thanks for the gifts, by the way. You're the best." Not the worst for a change.

Bill's eyebrow raised, and he glanced away from him. "Everyone knows I'm the best, cutie. You don't need to tell me."

"That took you approximately five seconds to ruin," Dipper observed dryly. "When do you want me to draw you? I saw you've already claimed the first page of the sketchbook."

"After I shower?" he offered. "You can meet me in my room."

Dipper muttered sarcastically, "Yeah, I'm sure being in your room will totally squash those 'we're dating' rumors." But then it occurred to him: he'd never been in Bill's room, the thought hadn't crossed his mind since he knew it'd probably be overstepping his boundaries to go into other peoples' bedrooms but here he was extending a golden invitation, and who was he to refuse? A sudden interest gnawed at him.

Bill was already heading toward the door. "Be there in fifteen, cutie."

* * *

And about fifteen or maybe twenty minutes later, there he was, standing outside the door of Bill's room. He couldn't hear the shower running anymore and presumed he was finished, but still wanted to give him a couple minutes to…

Dipper wasn't sure, and quite frankly, he was kind of nervous. The extra time wasn't for Bill to collect himself, it was for Dipper, who didn't even understand why he was this anxious over it. All he was going to do was go into Bill's room—his _room_ —and draw him.

Sincerely hoping he wasn't walking into a gloomy dungeon filled with death and despair, Dipper used his free hand to give a brief knock on the door, the other holding his art supplies. Internally, he was praying for anything but a pile of animal corpses in the corner or stacks of bones or shackles on the wall...

The door swung open without warning, and all previous thoughts were banished by the sight of a shirtless Bill. It felt like his mind went blank as he could only notice how his blond hair was damp and messy, and his _body_ – Christ, it was muscular and lean, and littered with various blue, gold, and black tattoos. Dipper recognized the zodiac, some stars, what seemed to be constellations… one of which was _his birthmark_.

Overcome by wondering how he'd never known about these tattoos, he hardly heard Bill when he said, "Might want to close your mouth, cutie, before a fly swoops in." He guessed he'd never seen Bill in a state of semi-undress, and this… well, he was struggling to process it.

Blinking, Dipper forced words. "Uh, okay." Clumsy words, apparently, and he cursed himself for being ridiculously awkward in social situations. It was a challenge to drag his eyes away from Bill to step inside his room, and although he heard the door being closed, he didn't pay any attention to it since he was too distracted by what laid before him.

He was positively entranced.

It was clean, as pristine as the rest of the penthouse, but that wasn't what had him staring in awe. There didn't seem to be any lights on but it was still quite bright considering it was evening, and he peered upward only to see there was a giant skylight above the equally large bed, the bed that was blanketed in constellation-themed bed sheets and pillows with starry cases.

Eyes sweeping the room, he noticed an impressive bookcase filled with what seemed to be textbooks at a glance, then continued his scan to the mirror and dresser, wall of framed photos, nightstand, small entryway that probably led into a closet, and another door. Standard bedroom things, but what wasn't standard was the lifesize paper cutout of—

Of…

Dipper squinted, uncertain if he had started hallucinating, because it was none other than Lin-Manuel Miranda. Advancing toward the large cutout plastered on the wall, he asked, "Why do you have this?"

"What?" Bill sounded a little defensive. "Lin-Manuel Miranda is a national treasure."

Dipper snickered at that, the snicker turning into a bout of laughter as he caught the _Hamilton_ pun. "You are a nonstop hurricane of weirdness." He really couldn't believe Bill sometimes, no wonder he didn't let anybody into his room.

Bill smirked. "I'm not throwing away my shot. I gotta rise up."

That only made him laugh harder. "Oh my god. You are such a dork, the biggest dork."

"That's coming from the nerd who brought up 'Non-Stop' and 'Hurricane.'"

"You have a _huge_ cutout of Lin-Manuel Miranda!" Dipper reminded him, motioning to it as if to demonstrate that Bill was the nerd here, not him.

But he didn't press the issue, currently intrigued by the framed certificates on the wall — there were four total, two four-year degrees and another two doctoral degrees. Examining them, Dipper's eyebrows shot up. "Astrophysics. Astronomy. Really? I should've known." Giggling as he recalled the countless times Bill had insisted on stargazing or just been staring at the sky, he said through the laughter, "You and your fucking stars."

"Doesn't make me any less a doctor, cutie."

Surrounding the framed degrees were photographs of various groups of people, Bill front and center in each. They had years written on them and production titles: _Oklahoma!, Romeo and Juliet, Grease, Little Shop of Horrors, Guys and Dolls,_ and of course _, The Pajama Game_. Although he'd been about to look away, he stopped as his attention was snagged by one particular detail.

"Holy shit, I'm in this one," Dipper commented, startled. Sure, he was a lot younger and more sweaty-looking, not to mention significantly more awkward, but nonetheless it was him standing amongst the group. They were both so _young_.

"Yeah, I noticed that the other day. Photobombing the back like a sweaty little shit." Despite the words, there was a lightness to his tone. "You realize that was supposed to be a cast only picture, right?"

It'd been five years, but his cheeks still turned red, and he defensively snapped, "Nobody told me that, okay?" Turning around, Dipper saw Bill had flopped onto his bed, positioned on his side with one arm propping him up while the other laid over his hip bone that was covered by those black and yellow star boxers.

"I'm not drawing you like one of my French girls," he informed him, sitting on the bed.

"Draw me like one of your French men." Bill smirked at him. "Not a lady, sugar. Unlike you."

Rolling his eyes, he figured they should probably skip to what they were here for. "Sit up," he instructed, shuffling to fold his legs and get his drawing supplies ready, "and find a comfortable position because you'll be in it for a while."

Bill shuffled, sitting up straight. Though he had his phone in his hands, his eyes remained transfixed on Dipper.

Once prepared, Dipper set to work on the sketch, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths to ease his mind. The scent of spicy honey surrounded him— it had to be a soap Bill used, it seemed stronger than ever post-shower.

Opening his eyes again, he took in the sight of Bill and tried to capture what details he could before he began. "You know, usually my subjects aren't staring back at me," he mused, "but I suppose that's okay, as long as you can hold that position."

"I can hold it just fine, cherry. Anything to ensure the perfection of your art."

"Mm, okay," Dipper said through a sigh, attention returning to the task at hand. Starting at his hair, he smiled at the way it seemed lazily tossed right now, so different than Bill's perfectionist attitude with his attire, but it was also fitting somehow. The blond locks were mussed and drying, though some still remained plastered to his forehead, one particular strand home to a clinging water droplet that eventually let go and slid down Bill's tanned skin.

He watched as it crossed over his high cheekbones, taking in the sharpness of his facial features and how his bones seemed to jut slightly. Bill's mouth was curved, the corners turned upwards into the faintest display of a smile, bringing Dipper to believe perhaps he was enjoying this, having his undivided attention on him.

The droplet continued down his neck and over a defined collarbone, but Dipper lost track of it after that, distracted by the captivating tattoos marking his toned chest and arms. Dipper didn't know how long he'd done nothing but gaze at them, enjoying the clash of blue and gold and black bleeding into beautiful designs. Constellations and zodiac signs, mostly, but there were scattered symbols and phrases in a foreign language. It looked like Latin.

They were utterly enthralling, rendering Dipper completely fascinated by the inky lines flowing with a creative grace over his bare skin.

But Dipper shook himself from the trance, shuffling for a moment before he started on the sketch, creating a general outline of his face and shoulders, one that gradually became more detailed and marred with dark marks the longer he worked on it. Crude features began to form on the once-blank sheet of paper, followed by smoother lines to accentuate his slim albeit muscular frame.

Eyes raking over Bill's body, Dipper paused to ask, "How did you get the scar on your stomach?" It was a thin, pale line, and didn't look too brutal, but it stood out against the tattooed skin.

Although he'd returned to filling in some of the whiteness with levels of shade, he could see from the corner of his vision that Bill's gaze on him was unwavering. "I was shanked in a fistfight a few years back. The guy pulled out a switchblade in the middle of the fight and stabbed me. I turned it back on him." The last few words had a dangerous edge to them.

"Ouch," Dipper said quietly, "that must've been painful."

"Adrenaline helps immensely. Hardly noticed it until I was in the hospital getting stitched up."

He wondered if Bill had scars unrelated to violence, if any were accidents of a reckless childhood or something similar, but Dipper didn't say anything more for a while, absorbed by working on adding details to his sketch and perfecting the ones that were already captured onto the paper. The lines were coming together nicely, soon enough a decently recognizable bust was taking shape, but he knew there was still plenty more to do before he'd consider it complete.

He didn't look up this time as he inquired, "What about the one on your hand?" It was a scar he'd noticed earlier, this one jagged and longer, spanning his wrist to a knuckle.

When there was no response, Dipper looked up to prompt him and though the exchange was wordless, it shook Bill from his hesitation. "Another fight. There was a woman who was getting ripped off during a drug deal, so I stepped in to educate her dealer on _proper pricing_ for his cheap shit. He didn't take kindly to that and _attacked me_ with a knife."

Dipper inhaled, "Jesus Christ."

"I caught it in my hand before it could do further damage and managed to disarm him. The poor woman left– drugless, may I add, and I stabbed the guy in retaliation and took his cocaine. When I went back home, my dad beat me black and blue for being out late and it reopened the scab when I tried to defend myself. Not– _fight him_ , but keep his blows from hitting my head and throat."

By now, Dipper had stopped drawing to stare at Bill in sympathy, a deep frown tugging at his lips. "He beat you? I— I mean, I know you said he hit you before, but I guess I didn't know…" he hadn't fathomed the extent of the abuse Bill had been facing, his heart feeling heavier at the new information.

"He constantly beat me. Even when I came home with stitches, I was beaten for _wasting his precious money_ on my injuries. We had millions, and it was still too much for him to pay a few hundred in medical bills."

"Bill…" Dipper murmured sorrowfully, unsure of what else to say. Bill seemed so vulnerable, and all he wanted to do was be there for him, knowing it couldn't have been easy to share these memories of a bad home life. "I'm really sorry."

It seemed they were both in silent agreement to leave the subject behind since Bill didn't offer anything else, and Dipper took that as a sign to focus on the sketch. By now, the shading was in place, the lines were solid, though he was beginning to wish he could've done a warmup piece since the two weeks he'd spent without drawing anything were painful to a trained eye.

His mind wandered while he drew, drifting from Bill's physique to their conversation. Thinking back to what Bill had said, his eyebrows pinched together. "Are… you a drug dealer?" It was funny how the notion hadn't occurred to him before, despite how he'd known what kind of life Bill led.

"Oh no, cutie. Dealing drugs is _illegal_. I'm a _freelance pharmacist_ , thank you very much."

Dipper grinned at that. "Sure you are, doctor. By the way, I'm almost done. Just a little bit longer, alright?" The finishing touches on Bill's tattoos were all he had remaining, as he wanted to outline them in ink to make them stand apart from the rest of the sketch.

"Alright, sugarpie. Hey, do you want to try cocaine later?"

"Absolutely not." It was an immediate reply, still as uninterested as he had been the other time Bill asked if he wanted to do cocaine. "It's not as if your story really put in a good word for it either." Dipper's eyes were drawn back to the tattoos as he began outlining, gaze dancing between the sketchbook page and the real thing to ensure it was as accurate as possible.

Bill near-whined at him. "Come _on_ , it'll be fun. My cocaine is the best damn cocaine you'll ever have."

"I never would've guessed those 'just say no to drugs' tips in school would actually have a use."

"They don't. One of these days, you'll give into your desires. And I'll have a coke buddy. Sharing is better, when I share a Coke with you." The Coca-Cola jingle had a hum to it.

Tuning him out, Dipper's attention seemed to be on Bill's tattoos more than his drawing at this point, but how could he _not_ be interested in them? They were eye-catching, attractive. But then again, when Bill was half-naked in front of him, it wasn't _just_ his tattoos that held a physical allure. It felt like he was in a fever dream when he set the sketchbook aside temporarily to place it on Bill's nightstand with the rest of the supplies, because although the drawing was nearly finished, he had a more pressing matter to attend to.

Throwing caution to the wind, Dipper leaned toward Bill, one hand steadying himself on the star-designed bed sheets while the other drifted over his shoulder, dipping down across his chest and tracing the patterns of the ink. His eyes were glassy, trained on the illustrations as he touched them, feeling the warmth of Bill's skin under his fingertips while they dragged over the constellations and symbols in jetblue and bright golds.

"Having fun there, cutie?" Bill's voice was a rumble, and Dipper could feel the distant vibration beneath his fingers. "All this touching and I don't even get a kiss? Naughty Pine Tree."

Shaken from his thoughts, Dipper pulled back, balancing on his knees as his legs stayed bent beneath him. "Oh," he ran a hand through his hair, "I was just…" no suitable excuse came to mind, there probably wasn't one when what he'd been doing was pretty obvious, and he gave up with a gentle laugh. Trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on Bill, he said, "Look, your tattoos are really… they're really nice?"

Before he was even done speaking, Bill was reaching for him, pulling him forward until he was on his lap, and Dipper steadied himself by bringing his hands to Bill's shoulders. "I didn't say stop, doll. That felt nice," Bill informed him. "Put your hands back, cutie. Touch."

Dipper made no move to resume and playfully asked, "I thought you wanted a kiss? Which one is it?"

"Both." The simple word made his breath hitch, his jaw going slack in awe. All he could find himself capable of, once he'd recovered from dumbly staring, was moving his hands lower again, brushing his digits over Bill's chest. Beneath, Dipper could feel his muscles rippling under the inked designs, the mere thought sending a rush of heat through his body.

He hardly had time to react before he felt familiar warm lips against his, gentle but controlling, encouraging him to reciprocate.

Instantly closing his eyes, Dipper leaned into the kiss and began to return it, still hesitant since he felt like he didn't really know what he was doing, but it was pleasant to have their lips pressed together like this, movements slow and sweet. The pace of his hands matched that of their mouths, the pads of his thumbs traveling over Bill's chest, making leisurely circles and taking his time. The innocent kiss lingered until Dipper was forced to pull away, refilling his lungs with a gasp.

"Breathe through your nose, cutie." His voice was teasing, and before Dipper could respond, Bill closed the distance between them again, capturing his lips in a second kiss. It was shorter and they pulled apart too soon, leaving him aching for more, but he was given no time to recompose himself since Bill was diving back in for another.

Just as he started to reciprocate, an unexpected force was urging him backwards, and Dipper couldn't contain the muffled squeak of surprise when he was pushed down, pinned to the bed. Somehow, never breaking the kiss in the process.

In an attempt to become more comfortable beneath Bill, Dipper raised his legs to frame Bill's waist, hands roaming over his back in directionless motions while they continued to kiss. Dipper couldn't pinpoint his wandering desire, just understood the thought of _more_ , wanting desperately to touch and feel.

This time, he didn't forget to breathe through his nose, hoping to avoid another kiss ending early because of a stupid mistake. He didn't want to pull away, in fact all he wanted was to get _closer_ and utterly surround himself in Bill.

Seemingly picking up on the positive reception, Bill deepened the kiss, his tongue ghosting over Dipper's lips before slipping between them, delving into his mouth with an enthusiasm that similarly filled Dipper with desire. Bill's taste was a strange mix of coffee and smoke, but surprisingly it worked, an appropriate blend of bitter and sweet. Dipper shyly brushed his tongue along Bill's, as if testing it out for himself, deeming the sensation foreign but all the same quite enjoyable.

Not long after, the kiss broke off, and Bill planted a smaller one to his lips. "You're adorable when you're eager, you know that?" Dipper gave a little huff, digging his fingertips into Bill's shoulder blades in impatience, like that would urge him to keep going again. It was a silent demand, almost pleading when combined with the expression best described as a dissatisfied pout. "Relax, cutie. I just want to talk about… this, before we go any further. Don't want it to be something we regret later, y'know?" In an unusual show of kindness and affection, he brushed a strand of hair out of Dipper's eyes.

"Okay," he rather reluctantly agreed. For once in his life, he'd been willing to jump in head first without any prior thought, no plans or detailed mental maps of the possibilities, and that scared him a bit. While he could still feel a deep blush on his cheeks, his mind was clearer now that they'd separated and he asked with some apprehension, "Why, do you think you'd regret it?"

"Potentially. It depends on what it means to you." Bill gave a halfhearted shrug. "Like, is this something we'll continue to do, or do you want this to be a 'just for today' thing?" It was a good question, one he hadn't given hours of thought to as he did other things, more menial things which wouldn't make a difference in a day.

He had a feeling this decision was far more important. And while he didn't want to regret this, the only regret he foresaw was stopping. "I… I like kissing you," Dipper confessed and looked away, "so if you don't mind, maybe we could— I don't know, keep.. doing it? And not just for today, I mean."

He chuckled, a hand gliding over Dipper's cheek and maneuvering him so they could lock gazes again. Bill was peering down at him, and despite his sharp features, his face seemed to have a strange warmth about it. Perhaps it was an effect of the skylight above them that painted the room with vibrant pinks and blues as evening turned into night, the brightest of stars beginning to peak through. "I'd like that."

Dipper wanted to duck his head but managed to resist the habit, grinning slightly. "So, like, friends with benefits?"

"Yeah." Bill hovered over him for a second before eliminating the space between them, lips brushing against his almost teasingly. A whine, one more pitiful than he'd like to admit, escaped Dipper; he knew he was being played with, and it didn't come close to satiating the increasingly overwhelming want for a kiss.

The sound seemed to be all the convincing Bill needed to indulge him since his lips were crashing against his, teasing dropped while their mouths moved together hungrily. With a flood of adrenaline coursing through him, it was so very intoxicating, precisely what he wanted, needed, _craved_. And the best part of it was, Bill seemed happy to oblige.

Friends with benefits, Dipper mused. He liked the thought, because there would be no awkwardness or pressure, no proposals or Bill begging him to elope. They could be friends, specifically friends that happened to kiss — it wouldn't be a big deal, it was purely something they did together.

Just an average, everyday bonding activity for heterosexual life partners.


	14. Chapter 14

"Hey kid, I'm _starvin'_. Slop some more grub on my plate, will ya?" Stan had his plate extended in one hand, the remainder of his body sunk into the couch with his legs carelessly thrown on the coffee table.

Next to Stan, Ford gave him a quizzical look. "How many enchiladas can you possibly consume?"

Dipper didn't want to find out since Stan had wolfed down plenty as it was, and he shrugged. "There aren't any left." Everyone had finished eating, Stan managing to inhale more helpings than he could count. While there were a few enchiladas remaining, those were being saved.

Mabel looked up from her plate, a piece of tortilla hanging in her mouth. "Yeah there is, I saw them!" Dipper grinned sheepishly as Mabel outed him and the extra food, but he wasn't budging on Stan's request for another plateful.

Stan grumbled. "Ya holding out on me, kid? For shame, I'm dying over here and you're saving the good stuff for yourself."

Before he could defend himself, Ford cut in again, "Stop being melodramatic, Stanley. You've probably eaten double your recommended daily calories in one evening."

"There's still time to triple it," Stan reminded Ford. "I don't need a _recommended calorie intake_ anyway, it's my body. My rules."

"Yeah!" Mabel piped in agreement, finishing off the last piece of enchilada and licking her plate clean.

"Yes, I'm aware of your stance. Your body, your rules, your early heart attack."

"The rest of the enchiladas aren't for me," Dipper informed him once the short exchange died down. "I… I thought Bill would like them? Since he had to leave before they were finished." It'd been unfortunate because he knew Bill was looking forward to his cooking again but the call came in unexpectedly, and he'd departed not long after with the vague explanation that he was needed on a freelance job.

Stan scoffed, dropping his plate onto the table, Mabel's joining his. "That jackass doesn't need it. If his precious _freelance_ work is more important than having dinner with us, he doesn't deserve it. Ya know who does? Me."

Dipper looked from Stan to his empty plate and slightly-protruding stomach. "Maybe I'll make more next time." Probably not, as it'd already been borderline disturbing to see how much enchilada Stan somehow packed into himself.

"Yeah, well, you'd better."

Mabel chimed in. "They're the best!"

Stan retrieved his plate, using his fork to scrape up what little was on it before Ford snatched it away from him, rising from his spot on the sofa to collect the rest of the plates and empty cups. "If you need me, I'll be doing the dishes since Dipper was kind enough to cook for us tonight." And he disappeared into the kitchen, his presence replaced by the sound of the sink running and glasses clinking.

"Honestly though kid, I'm surprised you're still around and not in hiding yet. That Bill is a fucking monster, y'know? Fearsome and unpredictable. What'd you do to get him to let ya into his death chamber? Not even Ford and I are allowed in there."

Dipper paused, blinking at Stan as he tried to process all of that. He'd thought Stan and Bill were at least friends of convenience, so to hear it from him... Bill— a fucking monster? Harsh, especially when it seemed more likely that he was the biggest dork on the planet.

And 'death chamber'... that was all it took to reduce him to giggles as he remembered the starry bed sheets and pictures of a younger Bill from his musical days, plus the cutout of Lin-Manuel Miranda didn't exactly scream fearsome. It'd been a normal bedroom for a giant nerd with an obsession with celestial objects, and that made the term 'death chamber' only funnier.

"He wanted me to draw him," Dipper said, "so he let me enter the 'death chamber.'" Complete with air quotes to accentuate the absurdity, it'd been hard to get through that without bursting into laughter.

"Did you draw him?" Mabel asked, looking up from her phone.

"What else would we be doing?" Dipper realized his mistake. "...Don't answer that. Yeah, I drew him." And then they kissed. A few times. A lot of times.

Mabel almost looked disappointed by his correction. "Darn, I wish you'd done more!"

Stan raised an eyebrow at him, moving on from their discussion. "Were there bodies in there?"

Just ours, Dipper wanted to say but held his tongue. No reason to invite any prying questions about their newly-determined friends with benefits arrangement that'd been kept secret from the others so far. Shaking his head, he answered, "No, nothing like that. Why would you think there'd be bodies?" He had a suspicion, but he was hoping he could hear it from Stan, someone who'd known Bill much longer. The earlier comment had his curiosity heightened.

"He's fucking ruthless, a loose cannon! Why wouldn't there be? I wouldn't be surprised if he had blood smeared all over the walls." Stan slowly sat up. "Was there blood staining the carpet? Chains attached to the walls? Wouldn't be shocked if it was a fucking torture chamber."

Mabel giggled. "Sounds like a kink chamber."

The mere idea, when compared to the reality, had him laughing again, and Dipper wondered if Stan actually _knew_ Bill because his version of the suit-clad gentleman was much different than his own perception. "I don't know," he looked thoughtful with a hint of a dazed smile. "Bill's... not bad, y'know? He's kind of a sweetheart." A big pushover who pretended to be tough and scary, but ultimately seemed to be trying so hard for him and it was nothing short of wonderful.

Stan burst into laughter. "Nice one, kid! Bill, a sweetheart? I should use that joke sometime!"

Dipper shifted his weight, looking confused by Stan's amusement considering he hadn't been joking about that, and he coughed. "Um…"

"...Oh, you were serious?" He nodded his response, unsure why that'd be so hard to accept as truth. "Hot damn, kid. If I'd known all it'd take is a midget to boss Bill around," he went on despite Dipper's disapproving frown, "I'd have hired one years ago. What, are ya two fucking or something?"

There was an alarmed squeak and he shook his head quickly, then cleared his throat to add, "No, we're not." They were kissing buddies, but beyond that, nothing had happened between them nor was it going to, at least not immediately.

From the corner of his sight, he could see Mabel looking up from her phone again (she'd undoubtedly been texting Pacifica), but this new conversational topic seemed to be more interesting to her.

Stan stared at him for a moment, then gave a long sigh. "Look kid, I think it's time we had a talk. About the Birds and the Bills."

Dipper blushed and mumbled, "I really don't need that." Much less from Stan. He'd already gotten his fair share of sexual education, and it wasn't as if he planned on jumping into things with Bill so fast. They could see how it went.

"I think we both want to know!" Mabel spoke out, grinning.

Stan ignored his protests. "So, when two people love each other and want to express that love physically… **neither** of those people are Bill Cipher. He's a self absorbed fuck who's unable to love anyone but himself and he's only using you, kid. Don't sleep with him."

Even if it'd been unnecessary, he found the words of wisdom rather amusing. "Trust me, I'm not going to." He appreciated the advice, but he could make the decision for himself- and if they did sleep together, he wouldn't expect feelings to be involved in it, nor did he want them to be. Dipper had been made well aware of his abundance of sexual exploits before this evening, so it wasn't a surprise to him. A bit more slyly, he said, "But I'm pretty sure self-loving has been _all_ he's done lately." Unless Bill's freelance work was more risque than he originally thought, he could conclude with a decent amount of certainty that he wasn't getting laid.

Mabel said, "Not everyone else does that as much as you wish you did, Dipper." His cheeks burned while Stan laughed, but thankfully didn't comment. And after shooting them both innocent grins, she slid off the couch, eyes on her phone as she headed into the kitchen. Hopefully she didn't plan on raiding the remaining enchiladas, those were still for Bill when he returned.

"I wouldn't be so sure about Bill, kid. The guy sleeps with everyone– maybe even _everything_ , so stay away from him. And his bedroom. Besides, if you and Mabel end up joining the crew, we can't have you sacrificing a mission by being in a relationship with him."

His heart sunk as he remembered that, the intimidating issue always lingering in the back of his mind: joining. It wasn't a life he was interested in, but it tore him apart to know Mabel would prefer to stay here, and he was going to be why she couldn't. Harboring extremely mixed thoughts, Dipper had already made lists of the pros and cons. Many pens had met a toothy demise to his plight, meanwhile the floorboards were well on their way to being worn down. He still needed more time to think things over, a little less than two weeks until his decision was due, yet a relationship with Bill was the least of both his and Stan's concerns. "We aren't in a relationship," he ascertained, "even if he told you otherwise."

"Oh, that? I knew he was yankin' your chain, kid. I was in on it, prepared ta tell ya to get ready for the wedding bells, but I can't risk a real relationship if you do end up joinin' us."

Dipper felt a spark of annoyance, but it wasn't _that_ irritating compared to some of the stuff Bill had done in the past. He expected that sort of behavior from him, but he hadn't thought he'd get Stan to go along with it — maybe he could tattle to Ford later regarding Stan's involvement in the stupid prank just to see what'd happen. Letting it go, Dipper exhaled and ran a hand through his hair as he leaned deeper into the sofa, pulling his sketchbook and a drawing pencil into his lap.

But he didn't get to use it, as Stan distracted him with a mutter of, "Still don't know why you hang around him. Dude probably killed cats when he was a kid." Doubtful, Dipper mentally noted. Bill seemed to have a particular fondness for animals that didn't extend to humans.

However, he wasn't sure why he stuck around Bill either. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was feeling out of place or the seeping loneliness. Maybe he sometimes liked his company or his kisses. Whatever it was, he didn't think his reason mattered when Bill seemed to be the one clinging to him over half of the time, personally speculating that Bill was simply… sad, perhaps lonelier than he was at the end of the day. The incident at the pier tended to point to that, after all. "Like I said earlier, I don't think he's a bad guy. I think he's… had a rough life." It was a light way to describe what came across as a very traumatic childhood and early adult life.

Stan snickered. "Did he sell you some sob story about how he's been attacked and abused? Don't believe any of that bullshit, kid. The guy was never touched by his parents."

The words didn't sink in at first, but when they did, all he could do was blankly stare for what seemed like an eternity.

The calm faded into internal chaos as memories flashed, replayed. Utter lies. Nothing but bullshit, just some made up stories. And for what? His stomach twisted uneasily, betrayal igniting within him like a storm, followed by a typhoon of hurt that crushed him under its weight. "He said he was…?" it was supposed to be a statement, but trailed off like a hesitant question. Dipper wanted to believe Stan was mistaken, that he couldn't possibly know the extent of Bill's history because they'd never been close enough to discuss it in detail, surely— it was a misunderstanding.

"The only one in that family to lay a hand on another was _him_ , because he killed them. There was a whole court case on it and he ended up on the streets while he waited for everything to settle down so he could claim the inheritance. They didn't have enough evidence to convict the dude, so here he is."

This was snowballing out of control. Dipper felt dizzy like he was going to faint, so many thoughts overwhelming him at once. Trying to take deep breaths, he struggled to keep a grip on himself, on the anxiety just itching for a chance to send him into a panic attack. "B-but the scar— the one on his hand?" It sounded meek. He was clinging to a shred of hope that it wasn't true, any of this; he wished to innocently believe in Bill's version of events because this… this was too much, and he didn't think he could take it. The reality was horrifying. Stan had been right, Bill _was_ a monster.

Stan shrugged. "When he was on the street panhandling, a guy offered him money out of his car window. He went to take it and the guy pulled the money back in and slashed him with a switchblade. Left a nasty cut."

And now, Dipper was pretty sure he _would_ actually faint. All of it had been a lie, his entire recollection of events, every single _vulnerable moment_ he'd shared had been bleeding with dishonesty, and Bill had taken advantage of his willingness to believe him. "Taken advantage" was an understatement; Bill had abused his trust, wrapped him tightly in false tales and now everything was unweaving.

Dipper didn't know what to do, didn't know how to begin to process this newfound deception. The whole time, he'd thought they were making progress.. and Bill was slowly bettering himself.

Another lie. Their entire foundation had been built on insincerity, and like his composure it was crumbling exceedingly fast, splitting apart before his eyes.

"You're lookin' a little pale, kid. Want to lay down or somethin'?"

When he finally registered the words, Dipper didn't say anything but did set his art supplies aside and flop down onto his side, curling tightly into himself. He wanted to be numb, wishing he could shut off his screaming thoughts for a single second of peace.

Stan shuffled beside him, and he could feel him move off the couch. "Well, I'm gonna go find something to eat. Holler if ya need anything."

His voice didn't even seem like his own, raw and broken, when he replied, "Enchiladas are on the counter."

* * *

He didn't know how long he stared at the wall, just trying to get through the rest of the evening and now the night, knowing sleep would be impossible. Luckily, most of the penthouse's residents had left him alone, only with Mabel trying to make conversation before going to bed.

Dipper remained in his curled form, thinking over what Stan said, relaying his words. Analyzing them. Comparing them to what Bill had said, and being upset all over again at what a huge fucking liar he was, once again proving he couldn't be trusted.

The door to the penthouse squeaked open, and the Asshole stepped into the room. "Hello cutie," he hummed as he approached where Dipper was curled. "Did you miss me?"

No. Quite frankly, he was dreading what came next, and he hoped they could bypass it in favor of agreeing they were bad for each other, but the smallest piece of him—the illogical side—continued to pray it was a misunderstanding.

Of what little could break through the thick clouds, moonlight streaming through the wall window had Bill's shadow engulfing him, and he rolled slightly to face him, a sudden fear taking hold. He was looking at not just the liar of the century, but a… a murderer, he'd _killed his own parents_.

A cold hearted killer with a thirst for blood, able to smooth-talk his way through any situation.

Mind snapping back to the night he'd arrived, he remembered Bill had said they died in a fire… if that had been true— terror filled Dipper's eyes as they were still trained on Bill. A wave of dizziness washing over him once more, he felt nauseous, almost as ill as he had the first day or so following his own parents' murders.

With a sharp gasp escaping him, Dipper squirmed away but no words formed on his tongue. He was rendered completely speechless and didn't know how to begin to address this, everything he'd been told by Stan. Wasn't sure if he even wanted to. In fact, he was pretty sure he wanted nothing more than to never see Bill ever again after how he'd lied to him repeatedly about serious matters.

And to kill his parents… Dipper had no idea how sadistic a person had to be to do such a thing, then lie about an abusive past at their hands.

Bill was gazing down at him, unreadable. "I'll take that as a yes. Hey, are those enchiladas from earlier in the fridge? I'm famished."

Dipper hardly heard the question, still trying to put more distance between them but was hindered by a growing pressure inside his chest, giving several rough coughs as he struggled for air. Leaning over, he clutched at his chest, pained tears forming in the corners of his eyes as the rush of anxiety gripped him like razor sharp claws. He felt like he was choking.

Struggling to regain control over his breathing, something jabbed him in his shoulder. Dipper didn't have to look to know it was Bill and strained through his wheezing, "F-fuckin' get— _get... away_ from me!"

"Why?" Confusion was evident in his voice. "What the fuck happened while I was gone? I haven't been gone that long, have I?"

Dipper didn't respond immediately, just trying to calm down enough to focus without his thoughts sending him into another spiral of panic. When he was able to take in air without feeling restricted, he murmured with hurt in his tone, "How can you even talk to me? You lied about _everything_." It was a mystery to him why Bill felt comfortable being here, in his presence no less, knowing he'd been dishonest about important details in his life.

"Oh, that." There was a laugh to his words. "Is that what you're fussing over? Honestly cutie, nothing I've said has harmed you."

It was bad enough to be lied to when he thought they were actually friends, but to be written off without a single effort to make amends was making it worse. It was a blunt, hit-in-the-gut reminder that ending things completely—whatever remained—was the best course of action for them. "I don't care, okay? I don't want to hear it." Dipper didn't think he could deal with this, with _Bill_ as a person if this was how it was going to be between them. And he realized, "You were right, I can't handle you."

"You seemed to be handling me just fine when we were making out, doll. Why's this such an issue, anyway?"

"Because I can't trust you!" Dipper snapped, motioning wildly. "I don't know if you're— if you're telling the truth or making shit up, or something in between! You fucking took advantage of my sympathy, and I can't believe I was so ...so stupid! To think you were above that!" It spewed from him in an angry, bitter rant, but underneath it all was a deep sense of betrayal since he'd truly believed in Bill, and in one swoop it was gone.

Bill huffed softly. "Isn't that part of the fun, cutie? You need to relax." He moved to set his hand on his shoulder, but Dipper flinched from the touch. "Seriously. I will… _try_ to not lie again, how's that?"

Dipper held his stare for a couple seconds, trying to fight down the tears—this time, not from pain—threatening to spill over his cheeks, and eventually he shook his head. "No," he whispered hoarsely, "that's not good enough. I can't trust you." It was a repeat of what he'd said before but remained true; if he didn't trust Bill, he wasn't sure when he was lying, if he was lying right now.

"What can I do to fix that?" Bill's hand cupped his chin, lifting his head up so their eyes met. He blinked but didn't pull away, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto Bill's hand. "Take a breath, cutie."

Dipper almost didn't want to look at him, afraid of what he might see, but he also couldn't bring himself to drag his eyes anywhere else. "Bill—" his words sounded thick, "it's not like that." It wasn't a home improvement project, it wasn't about to be fixed with a few magic words and some duct tape.

Annoyance crossed Bill's expression. "How is it not?" He nearly demanded, squeezing his jaw firmly. Dipper gave a light whine of discomfort, puzzled by the abrupt change. "If I was able to get over you _snooping_ on my phone," upon seeing his deer-in-the-headlights look, he went on, "oh yes, I _know_ about that, you should be able to get over my lack of telling you every little fucking detail of my life."

"It's not that you didn't tell me details, you intentionally told me the wrong ones to… what, make me feel bad for you?" Although not hard enough to physically harm him, Dipper shoved Bill back to release his death grip on his jaw, the two of them simply holding the gaze of the other for the longest time. Dipper was still caught up in how Bill had known about that, the phone incident, yet hadn't said anything. He was ashamed and knew he shouldn't have, but it was difficult to feel regretful now when Bill had done so much worse. " _Why_?"

The truth was worse, so much more brutal and hard to comprehend, than he could've ever imagined: "Because it was _fucking easy_. It was _funny_ to _watch you eat_ _anything_ I fucking told you. I didn't think I'd get fucking _sold out_ by, who, fucking Stanley? I should ring his guts out on some drying racks." The aggravation in his words was palpable. "But you know what? I should've expected that from _him_. I didn't expect you to go through my shit with your greasy little fingers."

"Look, I'm _sorry_ I went through your photos," Dipper snapped his apology. "It was different, seeing you like that, when you were… I don't know, at least _trying_ to be something more than… than _this_?" Dipper gave a careless wave in his direction. But he knew his true colors, they were right here in front of him. Shining through as bright as ever. And while they were on the topic of expectations, he added, "It was a mistake to expect better of you when I should've realized from the start this is all you'll ever be." It was so... sociopathic to be lying to him for nothing more than his own entertainment.

Heavy footsteps made the floor creak, and Stan stepped into the room, rubbing at his eyes. "Hey assholes, if you're gonna fight, do it fucking outside. I'll get my camera."

"Fuck off, you fat bastard." Bill's focus had moved on from Dipper in favor of glaring at Stan.

Dipper tried to stop this from escalating, knowing no good could come of two short-tempered individuals. "No, the fight's over. We're done here." There was nothing more to discuss, as far as he was concerned. Anything left between them was ruined, wrecked by Bill's mistreatment.

Stan took an intimidating step toward them, his attention never leaving Bill. "The fuck did you say to me, you little shit?"

Bill didn't back down, eyes flashing with fury. "I called you a fat bastard, you cunt-sucking asslicker. Go back to fucking your brother in the ass, Stars know that's the only action you'll ever get with that fucking mouth of yours."

"Bill, _stop_ ," Dipper snarled. "Don't bother, it's not like we have anything else to say to each other." This fight wasn't going to get them anywhere.

"You shut the fuck up, _Mason_."

He glowered. "Make me, you fucking jackass!"

And against his expectations, Bill actually took him up on the challenge and lunged, using his full weight to shove Dipper down onto the couch cushion, the forceful impact pushing all air out of his body. He was on top of him, his hands reaching around his throat, pressing down onto his airway…

A moment later it was gone, replaced by a shattering _CRASH_ and Bill was the centerpiece of a broken coffee table.

"Bill!" Eyes going wide, the motion was involuntary, a pure reflex, as he sat up in panic and worriedly rushed over to him. He hated that he cared, absolutely _loathed_ himself for giving a damn about that liar. He didn't want to.

His breathing was sharp, erratic like he was in pain and trying to conceal it. Bill hardly moved on the collapsed table, the only sign of stirring the twitching of his fingers. "Bill?" Dipper said, gentler this time. "Come on, it's okay." Hopefully, this wouldn't be a trip to the emergency room...

Even Stan had come over, a 'whoops' expression across his face. It didn't last long– once he was standing beside Dipper, Bill popped up and socked him hard in his stomach, the timing had been calculated and it seemed to hit its mark since Dipper could hear Stan's grunt of pain. "Son of a bitch!"

"What in the _world_ is going on in here?" resounded another voice, Dipper looking beyond the two to see Ford standing in the entryway. Adjusting his glasses, he appeared to be anything but happy. "Cipher, Stanley," his words were tense. "An explanation, if you will. Right now."

Bill rubbed his hand on his back, wincing slightly. "None of your damn business, Hen."

"This asshole was trying to choke Dipper," Stan grunted. "I threw him into the coffee table."

"I see. Is that true?" His gaze flicked between him and Bill, but Dipper didn't know how to respond when it was more complicated than that.

Bill spat on the floor. "He asked me to."

That was a definite misrepresentation of events, and he protested, "I did not!"

"You said 'make me', Pine Tree. Fordsy, your husband overreacted."

"He's not my husband, and it doesn't make a difference! You don't respond with violence, Cipher. You two, go to bed. And Stanley," his eyes shifted to him, "we'll talk about this in the morning while searching for a replacement table."

Stan grumbled and moved to join Ford's side. "Guess I'll need a shot of Sam in the morning." They disappeared into the hallway together, though Dipper could still hear Ford chiding him over the alcohol comment.

Bill had dragged himself off the broken table, slowly starting toward the door of the penthouse.

Dipper watched, frowning. "I guess this is it?" he spoke softly, a request for closure because after this, there'd be no reason to interact with one another. He knew he couldn't stay past the two week timeframe if he couldn't even be around Bill.

"No. You're coming with me." His voice was low, a dangerous edge to his words.

Dipper gave a bitter laugh, "Actually, I'm not. Bye."

Bill was upon him in a matter of seconds, hand firmly grasping his arm as he pulled him to the door, Dipper squirming and fighting him the entire way. "Didn't say you had a choice."

Still trying to frantically escape, Dipper threatened, "Let me go, or I'll yell for Stan."

"Yes, I'll let you go _with me_. Call for Stan if you'd like, the Mother Hen has him in her grasp and there will be no saving you."

That gave him pause because hardly a word of it had made sense. Extremely confused, Dipper asked, "Did you hit your head, or what?"

Bill's spoke in a frustrated growl. "I just want to go on a drive with you. I don't _want_ to hurt you."

"Why?" he demanded, managing to elbow Bill and scoot away from him, placing a bit of distance between them. "Don't you get it? I'm done." The lies, the murders of his own parents, the disregard for his emotion… it'd been enough for one friendship, the thought of that word leaving a foul taste in his mouth.

"No," Bill insisted. "You're not fucking done, Pine Tree. You can't be fucking _done_ , if you're _done_ then I guess I'll have to fucking shoot myself to get you out of my goddamn head."

"What?" Dipper breathed, momentarily stunned, but he shook the thoughts away, "No, you… you don't care, about anyone or anything. I know you don't. If you did, you wouldn't have _lied_ to me for your own entertainment, or because it was _easy_."

"Yeah, you fucking know everything, don't you? You know how to get under my skin, invade my privacy, and _freak out on me_ when I'm not a hundred percent honest with you over shit that doesn't matter. None of it would've affected you if you had just let it go, but you _had_ to make it big."

"Don't you realize that lying over shit that 'doesn't matter' is fucking _psychotic_?! It's sick!" It meant he was purely lying for the fun of deception, the thrill of getting a reaction out of others. But it had mattered to him, even if Bill claimed it didn't; it'd mattered to him because he thought it was Bill's attempt at baring his soul and bringing them closer, establishing a trust, when it couldn't have been further from that.

"Leave if you're so fucking _sickened_ by it. If you hate me so much…" he trailed off, dropping his arm. "It's always that, isn't it?" he asked in a quieter tone. "You always end up hating me over stupid shit."

"I don't _hate_ you," though he wanted to, he really.. really wanted to, and it irritated him that he couldn't, "but I do think you're a sadistic jackass who intentionally hurts the people around him, for literally the most selfish, _bullshit_ reasons to ever exist. I believed you— I believed _in_ you, and you exploited the hell out of it because… why? Because it was funny?" Dipper thought that was the word he'd used. "Well, it fucking HURT and I'm… I don't want…" he trailed off, giving up as he lost steam. He didn't know what to say.

Bill had averted his gaze, looking down the hall at the staircase. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Dipper found it difficult to believe him. "How can you be sorry if you don't even understand? This whole time, you've been claiming that it didn't matter or otherwise brushing it off." And had shown not a single pinch of remorse, until his apology. "Tell me why it suddenly makes a difference to you."

"Well…" he hesitated, speaking quietly. "You just said it hurt you. I don't… I don't _like_ hurting you, kid."

Looking away as well, Dipper kicked his foot as he tried to figure out something to say to… that. "I don't know, Bill…" there was a waver in his voice. "I just don't know how to trust you. What if you're lying to me?" Dipper spoke his thoughts aloud, returning his gaze to Bill to gauge his reaction. "Lying to me so we… get close, and you do this again?" He wasn't going to put himself through it all another time, he just couldn't.

His laugh was short, broken. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that. Is there… really no way to make this up to you?"

Keeping his eyes lowered, he mumbled, "I don't get it. Why do you _want_ to? I know you say you like being around me, but— but then why would you..?"

"Would you go on the drive with me? I think that would… help me relax, and we can discuss this further." Bill's voice was shaky.

Dipper sighed, defeated and yielding as he extended a hand toward Bill. "Please don't make me regret this." It wasn't a promise they were going to restore anything, merely an opportunity to see if it was an option.

Bill took his hand and led him down the stairs into the garage.

* * *

Once they were in his gold-plated Ferrari and out of the garage, the ride went surprisingly smoothly. Like Bill wasn't trying to kill them in a horrible crash. Similarly, Dipper was finding the drive to be rather calming himself since they weren't breaking speed limits or completing dangerous maneuvers.

Bill's eyes were trained on the road, occasionally swapping into another lane if the one they were in tried to trap them in a turn only.

It was several minutes before Bill said anything, but when he did he seemed more composed. "Look..," he began, "I know I fucked up. A lot. But the thought of being without you is kinda killing me."

Dipper was still nervous and distressed, uncertain if he should be trusted after everything. It was a guessing game, what was sincere and what was another lie to add to the giant pile of dishonesty. "I… I guess you're not looking forward to what happens in a couple of weeks, then."

"What, are you… are you leaving?"

A heaviness settled in him. "I thought you knew…?" it was barely more than a whisper. "I'm not sure yet, I guess. It's… complicated." With Mabel's desire to join, and Stan's rule about keeping them together.

His voice was a murmur. "No, no. You said you'd stay..? You _promised_."

Bill had lied about so many things, and Dipper was still hurt and furious with him over that. Telling him he'd stay hadn't been… a _lie_ , necessarily, but more of an understanding that Bill wanted to remain in contact, not keep him at the penthouse forever. Dipper gave a sad, humorless laugh and said, "I feel like I'm not really cut out for the gangster life. Remember when you said I didn't fit in? You had me figured out since the beginning." But even so, he was going to try for Mabel's sake, give it an honest attempt before he made a final decision.

Bill's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "I didn't mean that…" The quietness of his voice remained, distant. "Why would you lie..? If you knew you wouldn't..."

Anger igniting in him, Dipper lashed out like a wounded animal, "Because it was funny. _Easy_." The second it had left him, he felt a stab of regret.

"I see…" he trailed off, gazing at the road.

Knowing he'd overstepped a boundary, he sighed and combed his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't… have said that. I'm just— I can't believe you." The betrayal had cut deep.

"Don't apologize."

"I didn't mean to lie," Dipper explained, guilt dripping into his tone. "I thought… we both knew? And understood I couldn't _stay_ if I wasn't going to join."

Bill shook his head. "I believed you'd stay. That you… that you wouldn't leave me alone. I guess this is what I deserve."

"I'm still really upset with you and wish I could hate you," he paused in thought, "but… you don't deserve that, and you're not alone." Even without him, Bill had Stan, Ford, Soos, Wendy… probably others as well.

"No," he corrected. "I've never once been allowed to glimpse happiness for long. It's always been... stripped away, because of me. I will always be alone."

"Your dogs," Dipper said quietly, recalling how genuinely happy Bill had appeared in those pictures. No use in holding back when Bill already knew he'd looked through his photo albums and saw the images of them.

Bill looked like he'd been hit. "They're dead. My parents killed them. They… determined my dogs, _who wouldn't hurt a fly_ , were a danger to their shitty ankle biter and that they both needed to be put down."

Dipper was about to express his sympathy but stopped himself, guarded. "Please, _please_ don't be lying about this, Bill.." his voice cracked. "I swear to god. I can't take any more."

He didn't look at him, fixated on the road ahead. Dipper didn't know where they were going, they seemed to be leaving Los Santos and heading into the countryside. "I snapped when I found out. I had the vet give me their ashes and had them stored away safely, so I could bury them where I wanted. My parents… I tied them up. I broke the neck of their fucking dog in front of them. Then I burned them, their house, all those fucking _memories_. The cops were certain it was me, but I barely left anything behind. The fire consumed what little I did."

Terror overtook him, his heart on his sleeve as he stared at Bill in disbelief. It was so incredibly morbid, so horrible, but it wasn't as if he could stop listening. This conversation was like a trainwreck he couldn't tear his eyes from, and seemed important to Bill, even if it made his stomach churn. Despite his reasons, it was hard to look past the fact that he'd killed his parents, especially when the deaths of his own were painfully recent.

There was a single pause of tranquility before the old wave of grief ambushed him, and Dipper let the stress, the frustrations, the fear and sadness of tonight consume him as he started absolutely bawling, breaking down into ugly sobs. The tears streamed freely down his cheeks as he hiccuped and sniffled, emitting pitiful wails of mourning, of distress, his emotional response to everything that'd happened. It'd been bottled for too long and reached its limit.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that. Dipper's despairing sobs were the sole sound over the noise of the vehicle, and Bill didn't say anything more.

Gradually, the crying had dwindled to stray tears and the occasion sniffle, Dipper feeling more tired than anything else as he noticed the car slowly rolled to a stop. Placing it in park, he exited the vehicle and glanced at Dipper, moving to the passenger side and reaching to take his hand. "You okay there?"

Rubbing the leftover tears from his puffy eyes, Dipper shook his head. Nothing seemed okay when all of it was a wreck. He unbuckled his seatbelt and took Bill's hand, allowing himself to be brought out of the car.

"Want a piggyback ride?" Bill offered him once he was completely out of the vehicle, the door closed behind him.

About to answer, he was confused as he felt a droplet of rain, then another, and more until he realized it was actually drizzling out. Rain in San Andreas was a rarity. "It's… raining?" Dipper murmured, slightly concerned. "Shouldn't we head back? The roads are going to start getting wet." On the subject of leaving, he didn't even know where they were and peered around Bill, eyes going wide. "Why are we _here_?"

A cemetery, in the earliest morning hours. The sun wasn't even beginning to come up yet, and the circumstances—nighttime, rain, oh right _graveyard_ —were giving him the creeps.

Beside him, Bill chuckled. "Don't be such a Sun Slut, a little rain won't hurt anything." He turned his head, looking at the rows of tombstones. "To prove to you I wasn't lying."

Dipper sighed, gazing to the car. He was tempted to get back inside. "You have nothing to prove to me. I know you don't want to hear this, but…" the choked feeling was back, the words caught in his throat. When he'd said he was done earlier, he meant it since all of this was too overbearingly painful to take in, but he knew he shouldn't have trusted Bill in the first place. Bill's reasons for lying were sociopathic, downright evil. Forgiveness was a distant dot on the horizon.

Bill didn't let him continue, leaving his side to go to the trunk and after opening it, he retrieved a yellow umbrella. While handy, Dipper didn't know why he'd own one, being a resident of San Andreas, but he guessed his Florida roots may have something to do with it. He closed the trunk, but refrained from opening the umbrella as he returned to Dipper's side. "So, you wanna piggyback?"

"Okay." Dipper didn't want to argue it and moved toward Bill, but he stopped as he remembered something. "Wait, your back…" the incident with the coffee table couldn't have been a comfortable experience, and he didn't want to cause him further strain.

"It's fine. Maybe has some minor bruising, but you're not going to agitate it more." Almost teasing, he added: "Not with your noodle body."

Hesitating, he carefully hoisted himself onto Bill's back and shifted until he was comfortable. Now that he was off his feet, it didn't take long for the fatigue to return. This evening had thoroughly drained him since he hadn't been able to sleep, and he let his eyes close as he relaxed into Bill, the droplets of rain pelting him forgotten. He could hear the sound of metal rustling and then a gate creaking, but he didn't need to open his eyes to know Bill had probably just broke into the place.

Beneath him, he could feel Bill's movements as he walked and was strangely pacified by the rhythmic swaying. But all too soon, they stopped, and Bill's hands on his legs gently urged him to slide off. "Take it easy, Pine Tree. We're here."

Once he was on the ground again, every inch of him seemed to protest at the effort, but he ignored it in favor of looking at the headstone, 'Buttercup' and 'Poppy' engraved in gold across the black granite. "Oh," it was a near involuntarily noise, the sound falling from him in a hushed awe laced with an indescribable sorrow. Dipper knelt down by the stone, ignoring the wetness of the grass on his jeans to quietly ask, "Your dogs?"

"What's left of them," was Bill's hollow response. "Compacted into two black boxes, never again able to feel the wind in their fur and the mud beneath their paws."

Dipper emitted a shuddering breath. "I don't know what to say." He wanted to apologize but knew it wouldn't be enough, wouldn't even begin to touch the surface. The gravity of the situation seemed insurmountable.

Bill didn't say anything, settling down behind him and pulling Dipper's body into him, off the wet grass and into his lap. The droplets of rain ceased as the umbrella came up, the _drip_ on the umbrella the only reminder of the drizzle.

Dipper was grateful for the warmth and leaned back into Bill's chest, simply sitting there wordlessly for who knew how long. Once again, it felt like there was nothing to say, and even the most eloquent words weren't about to do this moment justice. "Thank you," was what he finally managed in a gentle murmur, "for showing me this." It was something true, a real vulnerability that wasn't fabricated by Bill for the sake of amusement.

"Don't think I had much of a choice," he muttered lowly, his chin resting on the top of his head.

Tinged with uncertainty, he questioned, "What do you mean?"

Bill shrugged, voice quiet. "You wouldn't have believed me otherwise."

"Maybe not," he agreed with a lazy shrug, "but does it really matter?" Rebuilding a trust was going to take far more than this, if it was to be repaired to the state it'd been in before he found out he'd lied about his so-called tragic life. Dipper admittedly had his doubts, still wasn't sure if it was worth bothering to pursue after being burned so many times. "Because that's all it is… I believe you, with this."

"At least that's something." There was some movement behind him, and Bill's jacket was laid on top of him, minus one cigarette that'd found its way into Bill's mouth.

"I know. I just wish it wasn't... so small in comparison to everything that used to be." What he had thought they had, to be more accurate, since it'd been based on lies and dishonesty, now it was disintegrating into nothing more than the cold truth that Bill had been toying with him.

The smell of cigarette smoke surrounded him, he wrinkled his nose. "I don't know what else you want from me."

Dipper didn't know what he wanted from him either. "If we're just going to Stan Method it after this, then you don't owe me anything except the decency of keeping your distance." Then he would be gone, they wouldn't have to worry about it ever again.

"You know I don't want that method," he reminded him. "I'd be better off walking away right now and getting a cop to kill me."

With a slight edge, he said, "If you're trying to guilt me with that, it's not going to work. I know you can live without me, you've survived twenty-five years."

At that, he scoffed. "I spent twenty-five years hoping for the sweet embrace of death. You and those dogs were the only light I had, and… I'm losing that all."

He didn't respond right away, opting to close his eyes for a few moments to clear his thoughts and listen. Listen to the rain soaking the grass around them, the pitter of the droplets on the umbrella, the dull thud of Bill's heartbeat in his chest. "If you want to see if we can," Dipper swallowed, "fix this… then you need to be completely honest with me. No more lying or… partial truths, or any of that." And after they were done talking, they could decide what they wanted to do. There was so much to say, too much to talk about before there was even a chance of picking up the broken pieces.

"Alright." Bill sighed softly, breath tickling his hair. "I will… be honest with you."

As if worried Bill would change his mind, or perhaps trying to measure the validity of the promise, he stayed quiet for a couple long minutes before he spoke. "I don't get it," Dipper said, voice heavy with emotion. "If you cared so much, why would...?" He didn't understand why he'd intentionally mislead him and although Bill gave an explanation, it didn't compute with his expectations of friendship. Trying to rephrase, he said, "I just don't understand. You say you like being around me and that I'm not an object to you, but then… you lied about this huge thing, and had me feeling so bad for you. You took advantage of my trust, and shrugged it off at first." Bill's flippant attitude about his concerns had definitely stung too, not nearly as bad as the rest but nevertheless implied that Bill didn't give a damn about hurting people.

There was a hint of frustration in what came next. "What do you want? I have a habit of manipulating people, have as long as I can remember. It's _fucking hard_ for me to do anything but that, because I've always fucking failed at other social interactions. It's exhausting."

Dipper tilted his head, wanting to hear Bill's heartbeat again. It was a nice, steady rhythm. Calming, like the sound of the raindrops and being carried. "If you want this, you're going to have to _try_. You can't manipulate me and at the same time call this a healthy dynamic."

"I already told you I'd try. I said I'd be honest, I've asked what I can do. It's like you'll never be satisfied with my answer."

The statement hit him hard. "I thought you'd understand why."

"I'm _trying_ , but no matter what I do it's like… it's like you're Stan beating me down with a baseball bat, smashing in my head until I can hardly move because you're unwilling to give me another chance. It feels impossible to get back up."

"I'm _afraid_ , okay? That's why I feel like I have to." Dipper's voice cracked. "I'm fucking scared out of my mind that you're going to get close to me, and hurt me again."

Bill withdrew his chin from his head. "Sugar, I'm not going to hurt you."

Dipper felt tears beginning to run down his cheeks again, almost wishing they didn't have the umbrella so he could blame the rain. "I'm just so... _so_ terrified you will. Because you keep saying you w-won't," he sniffled, wiping away the tears, "but then you _do_ and I don't know what to believe anymore."

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I am really trying to avoid that. I don't want to hurt you."

With the sudden urge to see Bill, he grabbed the black blazer in his lap and slipped it on. Perhaps if he wasn't busy fighting back tears, he'd find amusement in the way the sleeves hung well past his hands, and the tails rested at his knees. Shifting so he was sitting in Bill's lap, facing him, Dipper blinked in surprise as he noticed the mistiness of Bill's dichromatic eyes because he'd never seen Bill show emotion like that; he'd never cried in front of him, Dipper hadn't even realized crying was something he was capable of. When he found his voice again, he whispered shakily, "I want to trust you, but this is it, okay? This is the last time you can hurt me like that and walk away with a chance to repair it."

Bill's voice was barely above a whisper. "Okay." His hand drew back to wipe at his eyes, turning his head away from him.

Discontented with the loss of eye contact, Dipper amended the issue by gently guiding his fingertips against Bill's jaw to urge him back. "Hey, it's alright." Kind of, maybe. There was a possibility of things being alright in the future, specifically. "I'm sorry I made it feel impossible for you. I'm just… afraid of this. Us, I guess. Getting hurt." There was that confession making a reappearance, the little vulnerability and the crack in his armor.

The short laugh he received was almost hollow in nature, though he allowed his head to be turned back to Dipper. "Don't be sorry, doll. I should get… used to that, I guess. Not necessarily from you." A soft sigh escaped him, his arms slowly moving to wrap around him. "I really don't want to hurt you."

With Bill's arms around him, Dipper collapsed forward to rest his weight against Bill as his chin found comfort in the crook of Bill's neck, but he whimpered — putting pressure on his throat wasn't a pleasant sensation after he'd been choked earlier.

Bill's hand slowly ran up and down his back in a repetitive motion. "How're you feeling, sugar?"

"Tired," Dipper mumbled, then winced. "Throat hurts."

"Internally or externally?"

"Hurts like some maniac tried to choke me."

Bill paused as Dipper pulled back to see him. "Ah, so the nasal dripping isn't the culprit."

"No, just the booger that is you."

"I'll wipe myself on you."

"Gross," he sighed, too exhausted to do anything but spill his thoughts with minimal filtering. "If that's what breathplay is like, it was really terrifying. I… I'm glad Stan was there."

Bill raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, no… breathplay would be consensual and negotiated… ah." He shuffled uncomfortably beneath him. "Sorry."

He gave a shrug. While the choking hadn't been enjoyable by any means, it probably wasn't been the most painful part of the evening. "I know you wanted to make me shut up," since he'd challenged him to, "but… there are better ways, a-and to be honest I don't want to be choked again." There was the smallest hint of a laugh at the end of his sentence, realizing it was weird that he had to clarify.

"Better ways?" Bill attempted a light tone. "Enlighten me, doll." And in response, Dipper shot him an expression that oozed 'are-you-kidding-me.' More seriously, he continued. "But really, that wasn't… okay on my end in any way. I won't do that again."

"So… you're not going to hurt me physically or emotionally," Dipper clarified. The tiniest, tentative smile played on his lips. "I don't know if I like who you've become, you're not the Bill Cipher I had an embarrassing crush on five years ago."

Bill offered him a smile. "You say that like you're still not obsessed with me." A pause, like a thought occurred to him. "... Are you still going to leave?"

Any traces of happiness disappeared from his expression, replaced by a frown since the anxiety-riddled thoughts were rushing back to him. Mabel wanting to join, Stan deciding it'd either be both or neither— and Bill had clearly expected he wouldn't be going anywhere, but he didn't know how feasible it was. "I don't know," he replied honestly. "I told Mabel I'd try, like… seeing if being a part of the crew could pan out, but I don't even meet that Space Bird requirement thing."

"You have a couple weeks," he reminded him. "Plenty of time to get the required few pounds in. We'll go to Burger Shot everyday and get coffee on the way back."

That was far from the sole issue. "Okay, but I'm still… not like you. I won't be able to, y'know, kill anybody." He didn't even want to do anything illegal, for that matter. It was going against the ideals he'd been raised with and his own morals.

Bill shrugged. "Don't have to kill anyone, I'll take care of that if it comes up."

Although he had his doubts about that, he went on with increasing anxiety, "What about… seeing the people I care about die? What if Mabel gets hurt or— or killed? I don't want to have to watch that." He didn't want to _live_ that, his parents deaths had already wrecked him.

"How about this, cutie: if shit hits the fan and there's no way we can escape, I'll take you down myself. Quick and easy, you won't see or feel anything."

The thought was… depressing. Gruesome. But it was also appealing in a way, not having to see his loved ones suffer. Dipper held his gaze for a moment before nodding slowly, "Alright." Only if there was no chance of survival for any of them, then it would make sense.

Bill's finger came up, touching Dipper's mouth as if to silence him. "There's a condition, sugar. You'll need to take care of my dogs in the afterlife."

Raising his eyebrows, Dipper asked, "You… think there's an afterlife?" It was odd coming from Bill.

"Of course. I'm a good Christian boy, darlin'."

Dipper had to wait for his weak laughter to subside before he could even begin to tackle that. "A good Christian boy," he said as if thinking it over. "I honestly can't tell if you're joking about that."

He chuckled. "I was raised Roman Catholic. I believe in Heaven and Hell, and I can assure you the Big Guy Downstairs and I are going to light it up as I burn for all eternity."

Dipper looked intrigued. "You know, if you want me to be able to take care of your dogs, I think that takes premarital sex off the table."

"It's easy to sign the marriage certificate, cutie."

His "solution" was followed by a protesting squeal of Bill's name.

"What? It's true! We just need to pop into a courthouse, pay a small fee, sign a paper, and _boom_. You're Mrs. Cipher."

"Pass." Dipper's thoughts returned to the previous matter of conversation, and he said, "Look, _if_ there's an afterlife, I'll take care of your dogs in it. At least until you get there." Regardless of what Bill said, Dipper figured the entrance requirements couldn't be too strict if he'd be qualifying.

Bill's smile grew sad. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I won't be joining you." He glanced away at their surroundings, the darkness melting away with the coming sun, long shadows painting the cemetery as the cloud-covered sky became lighter. "We should head back, cutie."

Dipper nodded his agreement and said, "Yeah, I feel like I could sleep forever."

"You can always sleep in the car," Bill said, moving slowly from under Dipper as he grabbed the gun on the ground. He unloaded the bullets and slipped both the gun and ammo into his pocket. "Can you get the umbrella? I'll still carry you."

Dipper made a soft "mhm" noise and took the umbrella, looking at it for a couple seconds and turning it over in his hand. "Is there… an off button or something? How do you get it folded like before?" Maybe a dumb question, but rain was an uncommon forecast in San Andreas; he'd never had a need for one of these.

Bill stared at him for a moment. "Do you… not know how? How do you not know how?"

"It doesn't rain here!" Dipper huffed. "Not everyone is a Florida Beach Boy with organs of gold and a heart of pure evil."

"Stars, you're hopeless." He stepped over to take the umbrella from him, pressing the button on the handle to make it collapse and pushing it down. He wrapped the fabric around the post and sealed it with the band. "I'm making you do it next time, cutie."

Dipper snatched the umbrella. "Just carry me to the car." He was dripping with exhaustion, worn down entirely, and he wasn't a fan of standing around in the rain.

Bill chuckled, and he closed the distance between them to lift him up bridal-style. Resting the umbrella on his stomach with a hand to keep it in place, Dipper nuzzled into Bill's chest and closed his eyes, once more reminded of how overtired he was, how he felt like he'd been running on nothing but sheer adrenaline for most of the evening and night.

The walk to the car was quiet, and when they arrived at the vehicle and a door was opened, Dipper felt himself get lowered into the backseat, with Bill joining him shortly after to collect the umbrella and stash both that and his gun into a seat pocket. There was the distinct the click of the door being locked. "Get some rest, cutie."

Dipper shifted in search of a comfortable position on top of Bill, resting his head in the wonderful space between his shoulder and neck, then allowing his eyelids to flutter closed. "We're not going back? Is this it— we're eloping?"

"Nah, not really up for driving that far while I'm sleep deprived." He paused for a moment. "You wanna elope?"

"Hah." It was a short, feeble laugh.

"Well cutie, why didn't you say so? I can get us to the nearest courthouse in about five minutes."

There was a faint smile on his lips as Dipper mumbled, "Shut up and let me sleep."


	15. Chapter 15

The penthouse had been quiet, everything peaceful for a change. Stan and Ford were spending most days in their room, plotting the next heist for the crew, and Bill hardly saw them over the past couple days. However, he was fine with that because their preoccupation combined with Mabel constantly leaving to be with Pacifica gave him more time to enjoy Dipper.

They'd tentatively reinstated their friends with benefits deal but hadn't done much more than that. Bill wasn't sure where they stood, and pushing the boundaries would only drive the kid away. While Dipper seemed okay with him, comfortable for the most part, there was a lingering distrust. The incident with his past must've rattled the kid, the way he looked at him with the brief glimpse of distrust whenever he said something serious. There was a divide between them, their relationship seemingly fractured over that stupid incident.

And now, Bill was lying awake during some obscene hour of the night (he didn't want to know), staring blankly through the skylight at the clouded sky. It was unfortunate how rest never came to him, but it was hard to be surprised when this was a recurring aspect of his life.

Dragging his overtired body out of bed, he grabbed his blazer before wandering down the hall and to the balcony.

Keeping cigarettes and a lighter in his pocket came in handy more often than not. Outside, Bill lit one and brought it to his mouth as he looked up at the view of the skyline, hoping it'd be better than what he could see in his room. As usual, the pollution from the city had suffocated his precious stars, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake. Dissatisfied, he huffed, blowing smoke into the air. Take _that_ , environment of Los Santos. He always liked the countryview better anyway.

When his cigarette was reduced to a little more than a stub, he flicked it off the balcony and turned to head inside. Upon entering, he was in time to observe Dipper thrashing on the couch, and with a pinch of curiosity, he carefully approached the kid. Was he having nightmares again? Bill thought he was over that phase.

"Pine Tree," he whispered as shook his shoulder. "Wake up."

A strangled noise turned into a gasp as his eyelids fluttered open to reveal bright eyes, visibly frightened. And interestingly, he could watch the seconds in which it dripped away after Dipper caught sight of him, leaving the kid in a state of embarrassment. "Hi," Dipper greeted, voice still hoarse from sleep.

"Hey," Bill returned the greeting, "get up, doll. We're sleeping together." Whether Dipper liked it or not, because Bill wanted to make sure the kid got some sleep. Besides, maybe it'd help Bill too… he'd managed to achieve better rest when they'd passed out in the car the other day, a true rarity.

Dipper held Bill's stare, a protest probably on the tip of that sharp tongue if he knew the kid (which he did), but he seemed to swallow it down. "I'm guessing you mean that in the non-Bill Cipher way." Bill smirked at that, and enjoyed the display as Dipper stretched those little noodly muscles through a yawn.

"That remains to be seen, cutie. You'll give into your desires for me soon enough, and then we'll do more than just sleep together."

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Dipper flatly replied, "So basically we'll sleep together."

"That's the spirit, sugar. Get ready to strip."

"I'm keeping my clothes on, thanks." Dipper was rising from the sofa, shuffling toward his bedroom as the classic sarcasm made a return, "How did you know I've always wanted Lin-Manuel Miranda's paper doppelganger to stare at me as I slept?"

Who wouldn't? That man was dreamy. No homo. "Would you rather it be Leslie Odom Jr., doll? He'll probably _shoot_ you quite the glare." Considering Aaron Burr had _shot_ Hamilton… it was funny!

Dipper sighed loudly at his attempt at a reference and disappeared inside the room with an exasperated, "I'm too tired for this." Why wasn't he laughing? Bill thought it was hilarious.

By the time he followed in after him, Dipper had his starry sheets pulled back and appeared as puzzled as ever. "Why is there a line in your bed?"

Bill shrugged. "That's so the hookers or one night stands don't go on my side of the bed." He liked his spot untainted by whores, and the yellow line of tape that sectioned the bed did wonders. Even better, he had the majority of the bed to himself– visitors had the very edge. "Get on your side, cutie." He moved to settle down on his side, splaying out.

Even in a room illuminated only by the dim moonlight coming from above them, he could see Dipper's frown. The kid didn't move an inch from where he stood. "Wait, am I being banished to the hooker side of the bed?"

"Well, if you put it like that… yes." Bill didn't understand what the issue was. That was the designated 'not Bill' zone.

"No way," he snorted, arms folding stubbornly. "That's gross, and I'm not a hooker." With purpose, Dipper walked to his side of the bed, Bill looking up at him as he made a motion with his hand. "Roll over, I'm sleeping here."

Bill didn't budge. "This is my spot." Not his.

" _Our_ spot," he corrected snarkily. "Thought you were a communist."

"Don't make me pull a Stalin and kill you."

Dipper's eyebrows raised, meanwhile Bill's eye twitched with impatience. "Fine, come here." He caved into his demands, scooting to provide room for Dipper, who eventually conceded after another yawn perhaps reminded him how sleepy he was.

With Dipper settled in, he wrapped his arms around him, drawing him close. A while ago, he'd been hoping for an opportunity to spoon the kid; now it was happening, and he swore to the stars it was everything he'd been wanting, the way their bodies pressed together like the perfect match they were. His hand brushed over the silky fabric of Dipper's pajamas in small circles, unintentionally slipping into the soothing motion. "Get some rest, okay Pine Tree?"

"Okay," Dipper agreed, and Bill wondered if he'd already closed his eyes since his voice sounded more drawn out than it had several moments ago. "...Hope you'll be able to rest too."

"We'll see," he hummed softly as he breathed in Dipper's scent. It was like a lotion bottle exploded on him, engulfing him in a sweet vanilla aroma. "Goodnight, cutie."

There was a response but it was barely audible, some jumbled attempt at a goodnight, but it was good enough for him.

* * *

Bill woke to the distant sound of excited chatter, blinking his eyes as he glanced around the bright room. Sunlight was beaming down on them, painting their bed in shades of gold and orange. His gaze fell on Dipper, who seemed to have slept better than he did on the couch, as he hadn't disturbed Bill with his movements.

Still, he didn't want to put an early end to the kid's rest, and he slowly detached himself to get out of bed. But he didn't seem to be as stealthy as he thought, since Dipper was beginning to stir and looked at him through exhausted eyes that couldn't stay open for more than three seconds at a time. "Bill..?"

"Hey sugar," his voice was a murmur. "Go back to sleep, okay?" The kid looked like a zombie in his current state. More rest would do him good, and it wasn't like they had any important plans on the table today as far as he knew– the kid could enjoy a couple extra hours of shut-eye.

His coaxing hadn't swayed him. "Where are you going?" Dipper asked, slightly more coherent as he sat up, propping himself on his elbows and the mound of star pillows. That was a good question.

He wasn't really sure himself, but if he had to guess? The living room. "Out," Bill responded, which appeared to alarm him until he added: "Probably going to join the others on the couch." He assumed that was where they'd be, given they didn't do much. "Like I said, sleep. You look like you need it."

A yawn betrayed Dipper, and he sunk back into the bed with a quiet "yeah." The kid was much more agreeable like this, it was nice. Thinking that was the last of their interaction, Bill began to leave again but was stopped by a rigid request to wait. He turned to Dipper and saw he was holding the ring, the one studded with rubies that'd been sitting on his nightstand ever since he'd given it back the night at the pier. "Would you mind if I…" Dipper paused, searching for words, "I don't know, put this on?"

"Why are you asking?" It baffled Bill that Dipper felt the need to ask for permission. "It's yours, cutie. Do what you'd like with it."

Dipper gave him a leveled stare. "Because I don't want to give it back again."

Well, Bill wasn't really planning on fucking up again, so that shouldn't be an issue. "You won't."

The kid seemed content with his answer and burrowed back into the bed like a cocooned caterpillar after he'd slipped on the ring. Bill didn't hang around long, departing from his room with the door gently closing behind him.

"Ah, Cipher," Ford greeted from the sofa, Stan and Mabel at his side. "Sit, the election is about to come on."

Bill's gaze swept across the room, landing on where the coffee table once sat, replaced with a new one that had a striking resemblance to the old. Picky bastards. The broken pieces had been cleaned up and the old table was gone, leaving the living space looking as elegant as ever.

His gaze flicked to Mabel as she began to speak, peering at him from over the back of the couch. "Where's Dipper?"

"He had nightmares last night and couldn't sleep, so he's resting. In my bed."

Although it looked like Ford was going to comment, the news of the election appeared on the television screen and snagged everybody's attention, including his own. He wondered what poor sap they managed to convince to take the job.

It was a woman he didn't recognize, but his impression of her soured when she spoke. 'Blah, blah, blah, I'm going to kill all those gang crooks, blah, blah, blah. Los Santos won't be a victim of gang activity anymore, blah.' He couldn't care less, it was all talk with no bite. She could insist on bringing the murderers of her predecessor to justice, but that didn't mean she would. Especially with some of the higher ups in gangs' pockets.

"Unbelievable," Ford muttered. "I hope the Ravagers realize their grave mistake. Whether or not the new mayor acts on her promises is irrelevant, but we could have operated in relative peace if not for their foolishness."

Stan's voice was a rumbly growl. " _We_ should take those sons of bitches down a notch for this. They've fucked everything up."

"Stanley, it's… infeasible, especially now." Ford motioned toward the television, the mayor continuing to share her "stance" on crime, but it was nothing more than an angry rant to garner the support of fearful Los Santos citizens.

Bill took particular interest in her statement on how she'd 'get Mason and Mabel back from the criminal masterminds that kidnapped them.' If that was what she was looking for, she'd never find the Owls or the Ravagers. It was amusing, how adamant she was to locate kids that an entire city had nearly forgotten about or presumed dead after a week into their disappearances.

Beside them, Mabel squeaked in excitement. "Look, it's Pacifica's dad!"

His eyes flicked to the television, seeing another announcement being made. Ah, yes. Preston Northwest, the Chief of the Los Santos Police. A _dear_ friend of Bill's.

Stan coughed. "What? Ah, sweetie, maybe ya shouldn't see Pacifica anymore."

Oh, this would be interesting. Bill plopped himself on the armrest of the sofa, relaxing into the cushions to watch this go down.

Mabel bristled. "No! We only have less than two weeks left, right? I want to make the most of it with her."

Less than two weeks left? Bill recalled the arrangement he'd made with Dipper at the cemetery; while he didn't know if Mabel and Dipper had discussed it further afterward, it seemed clear she believed they would be leaving. No, they wouldn't be. Dipper wouldn't be. He was Bill's, and Bill's alone, and if he tried to leave Bill would fucking tie him up and take him to his house in the countryside.

If Dipper would let him, anyway. He couldn't escape the middle of nowhere.

Stan seemed hesitant, like he wasn't sure how to respond to Mabel. So Bill jumped in, taking advantage of the opportunity. "That wouldn't be a good idea," he said in reference to the siblings leaving in a couple weeks. "The mayor's focused on hunting you two down. It's not safe to leave while her attention's on you."

"I suppose," Ford considered, then turned to Stan. "Another month would allow the media to settle, and… give them adequate time to decide."

"Well… I… okay," Stan relented. "Another month, four weeks. But as a reminder, if one of you doesn't want to join us by the end, neither of you will be." Bill smirked. He'd make sure both of them joined. "I just hope hanging around Pacifica and Preston won't fuck us."

For a change, Mabel's expression seemed serious. "He doesn't care about Pacifica and hardly knows either of us exist. He's a bit of a jerk to her… but you don't have to worry about it!"

"And you don't need to worry about telling Dipper about how he's staying longer," Bill added. "I'll handle that." He now had an extra four weeks to convince him to join without a shadow of a doubt. Easy.

There was a knowing exchange between Stan and Ford, a glance he noticed but didn't understand, his eyes narrowing at the sight. But then Ford turned to him and asked, "Would you step onto the balcony with me for a moment?"

"Afraid the giant owl from space will take you away if you go alone?" Bill challenged, a little frustrated he was out of the loop of that look.

Ford didn't seem pleased. "No. If I was, I would bring Stanley with to ensure my protection. He's... heftier."

"That's called 'fat.' He should stop eating so much, he's becoming a whale."

Stan glowered at him. "What was that?"

"I said you're as fat and lazy as a panda." Apparently deaf as well, how shocking.

"Quit this at once," Ford gave an annoyed huff. "We _just_ replaced the coffee table after your last disagreement."

Bill scoffed but didn't press the issue despite the dark look he was receiving from Stan. "So, the balcony?" he inquired to Ford. "Need a third party opinion on redesigning that piece of shit?"

Ignoring him, Ford led the way to the sliding doors, and they stepped into the heat of the day only to be greeted with a warm blast of air. He already missed the air-conditioning and hoped Ford would make this quick, whatever they were doing out here.

Bill didn't have to wonder for long, because Ford skipped the pretenses by plainly stating, "It's about Dipper. Stanley and I are… concerned," he lightly paused, adjusting his glasses, "about your relationship with him."

Bill laughed. "Jealous I'm getting more action than you?"

"This is _exactly_ why we're worried!" A long sigh escaped him as he appeared to recompose himself, taking on his holier-than-thou, logical tone, "Over two weeks ago, you were warned to stay away from them. Since that certainly didn't happen," Ford took the opportunity to give him a hardened stare, "the next best course of action is to gradually distance yourself."

"No." Bill wasn't going to stop what he was doing just because Mama Hen and Big Daddy had an issue with it. "I'm _not_ going to stay away from that kid."

Naturally, that wasn't the answer Ford had been hoping for. "I imagine we won't see eye-to-eye on this dilemma, but elaborate. Help me understand why you refuse to stay away while aware he may very well choose to leave when given the chance."

Why the fuck did he have to elaborate? He wasn't the one going around demanding Ford stay away from others. "If he leaves, that's his damn choice. We're not exclusive, we're not dating."

"Does he know that?" Ford asked dryly.

"He really insisted on the 'not actually dating' part."

"Alright, Cipher, I'll approach this differently: what _are_ you two doing? Stanley has suspicions that you are engaging in intimate activities with Dipper, and quite frankly, I had my doubts but am beginning to see his point. You've had him in your bedroom multiple times now."

Bill shrugged. "We make out, we touch. Mutually benefiting each other, y'know Brainiac?"

His jaw set tightly. "Do _not_ allow your physical relationship to escalate. I would assume you have the common sense to comprehend why that's not only irresponsible, but a terrible idea."

"What if it already has?" Bill's tone was light. He didn't care if it was a terrible idea or not, he just wanted to ruffle Ford's feathers. "You have no idea what goes on in my bedroom, Hen."

Ford appeared to think for several moments before speaking again. "His gait is… rather innocent."

Bill laughed, remembering when he'd told Dipper the same. "You mean he walks like a virgin? I agree, I should fix that."

" _No_ ," he snapped, "I've already made myself clear. You aren't to touch him unless he states he would like to remain with us because I presume this is a stressful decision as is. Do not complicate matters for the poor boy."

Bill could hardly contain a snicker. "Sleep with him, got it." Ford seemed to be set on believing their relationship _could_ go further. It was pretty obvious he hadn't been around Dipper much– the kid's legs were held tighter together than Gorilla Glue.

"He's too young for you," Ford insisted, voice tense. Bill didn't buy it, assuming Ford was simply biased since anything over a day was probably too much of an age gap for him. "He's been sheltered his entire life, and an overwhelmingly horrible tragedy has befallen his family. How do you fail to see the issue here?"

"He's legal," Bill reminded him. "And he meets your stupid equation criteria. Shall I walk you through it? I'm twenty-five, and he's nineteen. Divide twenty-five by two, you get twelve and a half. Add seven to that. You get nineteen and a half, and oh look, Pine Tree's almost twenty. I know you're shitty with your algorithms, but it's not _that_ fucking hard."

By the time he was finished, Ford seemed to be seething, perhaps because he felt his precious intelligence had been insulted.. Which must've been a huge blow to him, considering that was all he had. "Precisely as I'd expected this would go," Ford said agitatedly, starting to move away from him to return inside. "I suggest keeping our conversation in mind."

He wasn't going to do that. Hell, he was already making a point of _forgetting_ this discussion happened. He didn't need 'relationship advice.'

Following Ford back inside, he glanced at the TV to see the mayor was still speaking. "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?" he asked, looking at Stan and Mabel.

"She's just been bitchin' about gangs this entire time. Nothin' important." Stan was slowly moving to get off the couch. "Ford and I were gonna go scout out a good getaway car spot this afternoon, you wanna come?"

Mabel jumped up. "I do!"

"Ah, sweetie–"

"I'm going!" She was unrelenting, bouncing off the couch to get ready to leave and listing reasons on her fingers of why they _needed_ her to come with. Her determination seemed to crush any objections Stan had.

They'd all packed into one of Stan's vehicles and drove through downtown Los Santos, every now and then making a stop to examine a particular spot before moving on, doing a couple rounds around the city to avoid raising suspicion.

Overall, it was boring, and Bill wasn't sure why Mabel had been so insistent on coming. There was nothing to do but examine alleyways, and he found himself longing to go back to bed with Dipper. It'd be much more pleasant than being stuck in the back of the vehicle like some _criminal_. To make the situation worse, Mabel wouldn't stop squirming and _poking_ him, telling him to look at stupid shit or chattering on about something that happened recently. He didn't care. He wanted to be in the driver's seat. Bill hated not being in control. If he was, Hen wouldn't be in the passenger seat either.

He had just sank against the door when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Curious, he pulled it out and checked the caller ID. Pine Tree? The kid should've been sleeping still, but Bill didn't hesitate to answer it. "Hi, dear." He could've called him cutie, or sugar, but he wanted to change things up around the others in the car. It'd be too easy to do something he used commonly, and he wanted to leave them guessing, let them wonder who was calling.

The term of endearment had caught Ford's attention, and he could see that nerd looking at him through the rear view mirror, his gaze questioning. A hint of a satisfied smile touched Bill's lips, knowing it was quite uncharacteristic of him to show affection so he understood Ford's curiosity, and he wanted to play with it.

"Where are you?" The voice on the other side of the line sounded raspy and strained, as if Dipper was trying to catch his breath. Through a whine, he added, " _Everyone's gone_. I tried calling Mabel but she left her phone here, and nobody woke me to tell me you were leaving or where you were going and..."

As Dipper rambled in a shaky, run-on sentence, he stopped him by answering, "Around town to scout something out. You doing okay, sweetheart? You sound like your throat got crushed by Red's dad."

"I guess, maybe," he replied, rather pitifully if Bill was the judge. "It's not a big deal. Just the nightmares again and," there was a pause, and he heard a shuddering inhale, "...and then I tried to find you but nobody was around."

Hm, those nightmares were becoming annoying. Maybe some SSRIs would do the kid wonders, he knew where he could hook some. "We'll be back soon, okay? Relax, dear."

That seemed to be the clue Ford needed to piece the situation together, and the disapproving frown and glare he received… it was well worth it.

Mabel didn't seem to be paying attention, still pointing out the various sights of the city to Stan, but he was also becoming increasingly interested in the call.

Another series of coughs and gasps drew his attention back to the phone. "It's... _hard_!" came the protest. "It's different when you guys are here, but—" Dipper cut off abruptly, wheezing. Once he'd gotten his breathing under control, at least temporarily, he asked, "When are you going to be back?"

"Within the hour," he answered, although he didn't really know. It was hard to tell with these clowns driving. "Just try to take it easy, alright?"

"I'm not even sure what that means, coming from you." How _didn't_ he? It seemed he actually was as clueless as he claimed since Bill could make out shuffling on the other side of the line, deducing that the kid had started pacing.

"Relax," Bill clarified. "Don't stress yourself out, go back to being in a cozy cocoon."

"I don't think that's going to help me." More sadly, Dipper continued, "Please just.. be back soon."

"I will be." He'd make sure of it, whether Stan and Ford liked it or not. "Anything else, honey?"

There was a long pause, but he finally said, "Cuddles."

Hell yes. "Of course. I gotta go. Love ya, darlin'." He didn't miss the look Stan and Ford gave him, and he grinned.

"What—?" Before Dipper could go on, Bill ended the call.

A silence enveloped the car for several seconds as the brothers _stared_ at him, Ford more so than Stan since he wasn't preoccupied by driving, while a mixture of annoyance and confusion was clear in their expressions. "Who was that." It was a stony question, asked by Ford. As if he didn't already know the answer to it.

"Someone who's far more attractive than you are, Six Fingers."

Ford hardly reacted to the jab, but snapped, "Are you harassing that boy again?"

Bill had to scoff at that. "He called _me_ , and besides, it's not harassment if he likes it."

"Not dating, my ass," he could hear Stan mutter from the front. "'Love ya?' What bullshit is that, Triangle?"

Triangle? It'd been a while since anyone used that shitty heist codename. There was a reason it'd been retired: he liked stars much more, and the lack of media attention on _him_ had been a problem. That Triangle fellow always got the heat. It had left life as Bill Cipher lacking.

Ford made a noise of agreement. "An endearment such as 'love ya' and your tendency to refer to him as 'dear' or 'sweetheart', implies more than a friendly arrangement."

Suddenly tuning into the discussion, Mabel squealed in delight. "Are you two together yet? Dipper talks about you, like, all the time!"

Well obviously, he was amazing. Who wouldn't talk about him? But even so, Bill waved the spectators away to reply to Ford, "Get used to it. I'm not backing off as long as the kid doesn't mind." And if they tried to talk Dipper into disliking it, well… they didn't _need_ to live.

Although neither of the brothers seemed satisfied with his explanation, they had the sense to convey it only through the occasional displeased grimace as they finished assessing the possible places to park a getaway car, then drove back to the penthouse. Moving to exit the vehicle with the others, Ford said, "Hold on a moment, Cipher."

"Why?" Whenever Ford wanted him to wait nowadays, it usually meant he was going to nag him. Bill was getting a bit tired of it.

"I merely wanted to inquire…" he pinched the bridge of his nose, "about your fascination with Dipper. Is it because of his birthmark?"

A short laugh escaped him as he headed toward the building. "That's a bonus, Fordsy!"

Once upstairs, he passed Stan and Mabel getting comfortable on the couch. They were wolfing down ice cream to a rerun of _Duck-tective_ and with disinterest, he went into his room to shed his coat, setting his gun on the dresser then hanging his jacket in the closet. Couldn't have it getting wrinkles.

Turning from the closet, he admired the cocoon Dipper made of himself. Somehow he'd managed to stay mostly wrapped in the blankets as he sat drawing in the sketchbook. Putting aside his complaints about nightmares, he seemed cozy and warm in bed, and Bill yearned to join him. "Hey cutie," he greeted as he approached. "How're you doing?"

"Hi jackass," was the snappish reply from the bundle of blankets, and they shuffled and churned until Dipper fully emerged, his hair a mess. He set aside the drawing supplies to say, "When I took the ring back earlier, I hope you didn't perceive that as a declaration of my love for you. Which isn't real, by the way."

"What're you talkin' about, cutie?" Bill inquired. "Is this about the call..? I only told you I loved you because I thought it'd fuck with Fez and ol' Six Fingers. It worked." He moved to join Dipper in bed, wrapping his arms around him and pulling the kid closer.

"Seriously, didn't we have a conversation about how I don't want people to think we're dating?" In spite of his displeased tone, Dipper was already shifting to curl into him, nestling into his shoulder. He went on to murmur teasingly, "Mostly because I could do so much better than you."

Oh, please. Dipper couldn't do better, not when Bill was the best. "You could try," he hummed as Dipper nuzzled in. "That doesn't mean you'll get anyone else, 'cause they don't exist, sugar."

"You act like being completely alone would be a step down."

"Being with or without anyone but me is a loss, doll. I'm the best thing to happen to this world."

A lazy grin on his face, Dipper propped himself on his elbows to gaze at him, mere inches between the two. His fingers were floating over his shirt, lightly tracing along the suspenders, before settling dangerously close to his bowtie. He better not touch it. "Mm, I believe I can safely say you haven't improved my life in any way," he mused.

Bill rumbled softly. "How squeaky you get when I kiss you says otherwise."

"And maybe if you were good I'd moan."

"Do you want to have access to my bed or not?"

"Do you want to have access to my mouth or not?" Dipper parroted, raising an eyebrow.

"Out."

He laughed a little but stubbornly said, "Nope."

How annoying. "Would you like me to throw you out? I'm sure you can recall what happened last time I had to forcibly remove you." He'd gotten 'hurt.' Bill was confident he'd been faking.

"Oh, right," he replied, appearing to think. "You threw me out of your car, then stalked me for two blocks, and eventually came out to threaten me with rope."

"I'll tie a rope around your feet and drag your noodly ass out of here."

"You'd go through the trouble of tying me, then would _remove_ me from your bedroom?" He looked skeptical but simultaneously a beat away from bursting into giggles.

Bill dismissively said, "It wouldn't be the right rope. If I fucked you with _that_ kind of rope, it'd just make your little wrists raw."

"What if I like it rough?" he challenged, a single digit smoothing over his bowtie.

"Then I'll rip your clothes off, tie you up, then fuck you dry." Was that rough enough for him? "Then I'll bite off that finger of yours."

" _Ooh_ , Bill. You make me so hot," Dipper deadpanned with a roll of his eyes.

Did he not think he was serious about the finger? Bill had already warned him in the past about touching his bowtie. "I'd hate to see you all hot and bothered when your finger's pumping out blood."

"Is this really irritating you that much?" Dipper asked, the finger on his bowtie pressing down for a second. After being met with a scowl, he sighed exasperatedly, "Relax, man. I'll move it." And he curled his fingers into his balled fist, thankfully away from the bowtie. Good. Another second of his bowtie being tainted, he would've bit the kid. "But just so you know, I'd never be so _savage_ as to bite your finger."

"Your teeth are about as fearsome as a toothless granny, cutie. You can gum my finger all ya want."

Dipper flicked his cheek. "I'd show your finger a good time."

Bill blew on his face, watching in amusement as the kid's features scrunched. "Just practice for when my cock's in your mouth." More seriously, Bill opted to move on from that discussion because as much as he loved being sexual with Pine Tree, he knew he wouldn't be getting a blowjob out of today's conversation. "So, cutie. I have some news about when Stan's letting you leave."

"Okay…"

"It's being moved back. The new mayor's a piece of work. She's trying to hunt you down– obsessed with finding you and Mabel, and Stan doesn't want you two out in the wild until she chills the fuck out."

Dipper appeared to be mildly apprehensive by the news but nodded after he'd processed it. "Why is she after us?" he questioned. "I thought we were basically dead to this city."

He'd thought so too, and all he could do was shrug. "She's determined to track down you two and get you back from the 'criminal scum' that 'kidnapped' you. The issue with it is once you're outed, gangs like the Ravagers who want you dead can find you easily."

"Oh." It was a little breathless as Dipper nuzzled back into him, seemingly in search of protection. Bill had just been trying to relay the state of affairs to him, he hadn't meant to scare the kid. "So.. what's the new date?"

"It's another month, at least. Roughly five weeks, give or take."

"Alright." Bill couldn't tell if it was relief or worry in his voice, but he went on before he could think about it for very long. "You're not actually going to kick me out of your bed, are you?"

He softly laughed at that. "Nah, cutie. You're welcomed to use it as you wish. I like sleeping with you."

"Good, because… it was nice? I slept pretty well." Dipper gave a slight laugh of his own. "At least while you were here, I mean. It kind of sucked, waking up from a nightmare with nobody around the penthouse."

"I bet." Although it'd been unfortunate that he had to leave, it was always good to get the lay of the area they were going to be robbing. "Are you doing better?"

Dipper gave a hum, nosing the underside of his jaw and inhaling gently. "Yeah, thanks."

Bill chuckled. "Good. Like what you smell, doll?" He didn't miss how Dipper had smelled him, and in return he breathed in Dipper's scent. Yup, still like a vanilla bean exploded onto him.

"Maybe," he mumbled but didn't move away, "when you don't smell like cigarette smoke, anyway."

"It's part of my charm," he objected. Cigarette smoke was great. He hardly noticed it!

Dipper snorted and said sarcastically, "You're right, cancer is undeniably sexy. Blackened lungs get my heart racing."

That was worthy of a smirk. "Glad we're on the same page." Not seriously, but Bill didn't care about his lungs or cancer. He was sure he wouldn't live long enough to see it.

In response to his comment, he heard a peeved mutter of his name and a moment later, Dipper was shifting to rest on top of him, straddling his waist. "Don't be a dick about this. There are better ways to relieve stress."

"Well, you're not putting out." He could get sex from somewhere else, but smoking was far more convenient. "Unless you're planning on riding me right now?"

Mischief glinted in his eyes, and Dipper's hips gave an experimental nudge against his own. "I thought you had plenty of hooker friends you'd rather sleep with?"

Bill bucked back without hesitation, briefly wondering how far Dipper would go. "It's easier to have a twink that lives with me."

Now graced with a dusting of red across his cheeks, Dipper laughed a bit nervously, "A twink you can't even get a moan out of with your kissing."

"I can fix that," he offered lowly as he bucked again, grinding into Dipper while his hands drifted to his hips, thumbs circling the jutting bones in encouragement. "I'll make you moan so loud the others can hear you." And oh, he absolutely reveled in the way Dipper's pupils dilated— he knew that look. _Want_. Bill pulled Dipper into a kiss, light at first, but he deepened it with his tongue slipping into his mouth.

The pliant gasp of surprise was quickly silenced as Dipper fell into their usual rhythm and began to hungrily reciprocate the kiss, his hands ghosting over Bill's chest and shoulders, fingers digging into the clothing.

The lack of pleased noises was frustrating. Bill knew he was holding back, being stubborn about this, but he _would_ make his Pine Tree moan. He continued to grind against him and tried to guide Dipper to do the same, the friction between them increasing, becoming more desperate as their kisses turned sloppy.

But he paused upon feeling how Dipper uncomfortably shifted above him, breaking the kiss.

He looked incredibly adorable with how red he was, blushing and panting. It'd be easy to pin him, to make him _his_ … "Can you just imagine how much better this would feel if I was inside you?" Bill breathed, gazing at him while his hand suggestively trailed across Dipper's inner thigh.

His wonderfully-widened pupils morphed into panicked dots, and he scrambled back completely to sit on the bed sheets, letting them pool in his lap. He gave an embarrassed cough, averting his eyes. "I, uh— I don't think that's a good idea."

"If you say so," Bill murmured, though he didn't agree. He'd seen the fear in his eyes and didn't want to push their relationship further than he had. "Do you want to join Stan and Mabel? They're watching Dumbtective."

" _Duck-tective_ isn't a bad show," Dipper protested with a small chuckle, anxiously running a hand through his hair. "But yeah, we… probably should." The kid moved from the bed, picking up a set of folded clothes, undoubtedly his since it was a plaid shirt and jeans, from the top of the dresser. Dipper spared him a questioning look and asked, "Aren't you going to go watch?"

Yes, he was going to watch Dipper dress. He made it so easy when he was already in his PJs, now he _had_ to strip in front of him. Hot.

He was dragged from his fantasy by a prompting, "Bill?"

"Undress, cutie. I'll watch you real good."

Dipper squeaked at that. "When I asked if you were going to watch, I meant _Duck-tective_."

"That too…" Not immediately, but soon. At this rate, he needed to take care of something first.

"So you really want me to undress in front of you," Dipper clarified, an eyebrow raised. "You have a connected bathroom," he motioned to the doorway, "I could just use that." Something between skepticism and amusement rested in his tone, but he didn't move from where he stood in front of the mirror — perfect, another angle to watch from.

He needed to talk less and undress more. "Strip."

Brief contemplation followed, but he said, "Better be extra nice to me today." Dipper ended the sentence with a shrug, then began to undo the buttons of his pine tree-print pajamas, starting at the top of his shirt and moving down. Bill watched in interest as more skin was exposed to him, nearly drooling as the fabric dropped from his shoulders, and soon he was shedding the garment off his lithe frame entirely.

The first thing he noticed was the absence of hair. "You shave?"

"Oh..." Dipper grinned sheepishly. "No, I don't grow enough body hair to bother."

"I guess Mabel must've gotten that gene."

The grin was instantly replaced by a look of annoyance. "Do you want me to continue or not."

Why yes, yes he would. He'd conquer that smooth skin soon enough. "Please."

After holding his gaze for a moment longer, Dipper finished undressing by shimmying out of the pajama bottoms, leaving nothing but his underwear remaining. Now if only that would come off... At last, the part he didn't care for followed: the redressing, which he was significantly less interested in as Pine Tree threw on the classic plaid shirt and jeans.

Walking toward the door, he glanced over his shoulder, "You coming?"

Bill _was_ going to come, but not in the way Dipper thought. "In a few minutes."

He blinked dumbly, hesitating. "Okay, why?"

"I'm going to spank the wank, cutie." Bill thought that was obvious considering they'd been getting hot and heavy, then Dipper essentially stripped for him.

"Uh… what?"

"You know, shaking hands with the milkman. Roughing up the suspect, and beating out a confession. Draining my dragon. Making the bald man cry."

"I don't know what any of that means?" Dipper looked around the room, confused. "There are no dragons or ...bald guys here."

Stars, he was cute but stupidly innocent sometimes. "I'm going to jack it to the thought of your cute little ass, Pine Tree."

"Oh." The resulting blush was magnificent, and he seemed to have no idea what to do or say.

So Bill continued, "And I'm starting in ten seconds whether you're here or not." As if to demonstrate his point, he made a show of undoing the hook of his slacks, and then reaching for his boxers.

Momentarily alarmed, Dipper turned back to the door. "Okay, okay! I'm going!" he called, beginning to scamper from the room.

Bill softly chuckled. "Shake your ass on the way out."


End file.
